Uncommon Ground
by Igrayne01
Summary: Aeryn Cousland arrives at Vigil's Keep to fight off the remaining Darkspawn only to find herself crossing paths with a man who wishes her dead. FemCouslandxNathaniel Howe
1. Chapter 1

I.

The journey to Vigil's Keep had indeed been long and arduous. What strength Aeryn Cousland had left was spent on clearing out the last pockets of Darkspawn resistance in the fortress proper and then tending to the Joining of her fellow companions-at-arms. Anders, a quick-witted escaped Circle Mage, had seemed a strong enough candidate for the Grey Wardens, as had her old friend Oghren—but when the petite Mhairi lifted the giant chalice to her lips, Aeryn had a brief yet telling premonition that the woman would not survive the test.

As the young woman's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, she knew what she had foreseen was no coincidence. The Darkspawn blood that now coursed through her veins had given her access to certain _uncanny_ abilities to predict the future… though she had shared this knowledge with no one.

Not even Zevran.

After the coronation of King Alistair, the elf had left without so much as a simple goodbye—probably to spare her a painful departure, she surmised—or even a hastily scribbled note to explain his intentions. Though he had no need to declare them; Aeryn already knew. The Antivan Crows had deployed more of their number to procure his death for defecting from their faction. They had fought about the matter many times, though never to any reasonable conclusion.

So he had just left… unannounced.

In the months afterward, she had thrown herself headily into her work, seeking to fill the void left in his absence. She had gathered much support from all corners of Ferelden. And still it had not been enough to erase the memory of him.

This thought weighed heavily on her mind as she climbed into bed the next night in the royal chamber of Vigil's Keep, the mighty fortress that had once fallen under the rule of Arl Rendon Howe, last of the lords of Amaranthine. The room had been remodeled to cater more to the tastes of Seneschal Varel, the interim leader appointed to see to the fortress' day-to-day affairs. As such, it was excessively beige—Varel's favorite color, apparently—and both bright and hot, with fire from the hearth saturating each of the four walls. Cluttered with antiques from a bygone age, the room would have been welcoming were it not for the overlarge portrait of Rendon Howe mounted adjacent to the four-poster bed—apparently a minor oversight in the post-Blight renovations.

She found herself staring up at his beady black eyes and pinched nose with the covers pulled up to her neck, withering under his appraising stare. Although it was only a painting, the resemblance was uncanny. It made her uncomfortable to look into the eyes of the man she had so haplessly dispatched almost six months ago. His dying words called to her still…

"_Maker spit on you. __I deserved… more!"_

She wrinkled her nose in disgust as the face scowled down upon her from its elevated position. She had almost made the mistake of taking pity on Howe during his last moments, but the memory of Bryce and Eleanor's faces had crept, unbidden, into her thoughts with nary a minute to spare. Her grip on her weapon, which had faltered, tightened. It was then she found the strength to do what she should have done a long time ago.

What she would do again, a thousand times over, were she ever again to be given the chance.

Howe's eyes penetrated her thoughts that night as her eyes fluttered closed, lured by the promise of sleep. The last thing she saw before the world around her turned to darkness was the light from the hearth dancing shadows upon the walls.

And then…

She was roughly jarred awake by the weight of another's body on her own, suffocating her. Two meaty hands tightened around her throat, momentarily cutting off her air supply. As the hands continued to choke the life out of her, strengthening in force, she gazed into the pale blue-grey eyes of the man who was about to kill her. He had a look of murderous rage etched onto his steely features and an aura of familiarity about him. In some strange, half-defined way, it seemed to her that she had seen a face similar to his before. It was a strong face, despite looking too thin. The lips were firm and tightly drawn together, the nose hooked and a trifle thick. The expressive eyes that stormed with an angry fire seemed to be seeking something, hunting for a sign of unsettlement from her. She gave none, nor moved at all, save to lace her hands around his iron grip. At last she was able to choke out a word, gurgling for breath.

"R-release me…"

"You'll die first," the voice whispered in a tone that was equal parts honey and venom. The softly accented drawl seemed to indicate the attacker was a Fereldan, though in this state it was difficult to tell.

Her nails dug into his flesh, drawing enough blood to cause him to yelp and release her. Freed from his grip, she flung herself out of bed at breakneck speed, grabbing a dagger from the jeweled scabbard that lay on a side table. Only a thin chemise covered her, leaving very little to the imagination. There was no doubt in her mind that he could see every curve of her body through the sheer material, though that was not her concern at the moment. Right now, staying alive was all that mattered. And from the look on her perpetrator's face, he was determined to do all within his power to kill her.

From his position across the room, he advanced on her, his tousled black hair falling into his eyes even as he struggled to sweep it back off his face. Aeryn backed up until the edge of an ill-placed couch hit her behind the knees, and then she could move no further. She concealed the dagger in her hand, waiting for the right moment.

It came a second later when he lunged for her, grasping her waist and holding her still. One fist knotted in her hair, and he used it to yank her head back, pushing her against the wall. This close, she could smell his faint masculine aura, a pleasant mix of musk, leather gear, and a subtle, earthy scent.

Aeryn wasted no time; the tiny blade found purchase in the area between his shoulder and pectoral muscle and sliced diagonally upward. He howled in pain, momentarily dazed by the blow. As his grip relaxed, she sidled out from under him and ran for the door.

In the nick of time, the door burst open, revealing a very harried-looking Anders, his flaxen hair in complete disarray as though he had just awakened from a restless sleep. He grasped his intricate staff tightly in one hand and was using it to aim a volley of spells in the man's direction. He was thrown off his feet almost instantly and landed nearby with his head against the back of the couch.

"And here I thought I was going to play hero," Anders declared, sounding semi-disappointed at the sight of the bleeding man. "From the looks of things, I'd say you had it handled."

"Nearly," Aeryn said with a gasp, rubbing her neck. "A minute later and I'd have been a goner for sure. I suppose thanks are in order."

"Oh, you know. Anytime. And when someone's trying to stab _me_ in the back, I'd expect you to do the same. One hand washes the other… know what I mean?"

Aeryn rolled her eyes and sheathed the tiny dagger in the bedside scabbard before turning around to face the mage. He was wearing a set of gold and blue robes adorned with feathers and had even managed to pull on gauntlets and boots in his haste to rescue her from her attacker.

"So… just what _were_ you doing, sneaking around my room so fortuitously?"

"Sneaking? No, not me! I don't sneak. Stroll, perhaps… meander about, even… but not sneak. Honestly, I'm hurt."

"Oh, cut the crap and tell me what you were doing."

"Well, you see…" He wrung his hands and kept his eyes focused on the ground. "Ser Pounce-a-lot wanted a spot of warm milk to drink before bedtime…"

Aeryn rolled her eyes. Ever since gifting the apostate mage with the little kitten earlier that night, he had developed an almost unhealthy attachment to it, showering it with love, affection, and treats. Although she had only recently become acquainted with Anders, if she had to guess, she would have said he was not much of a soft touch. In the conniving hands—_paws_—of the kitten, however, he was putty.

"I should have guessed it had something to do with that mangy, flea-bitten animal."

"He's not mangy!" the apostate trilled, sounding extremely offended. "Don't you listen to her, Ser Pounce-a-lot!"

The orange tabby cat mewled plaintively in response, having crept up from behind the door to circle through Anders' legs and back again, its back in a high arch and its striped fur fluffed.

"Enough of that. What do we do about our friend here?" Aeryn said, drawing attention to the unconscious body that lay propped up against the couch. Firelight flickered over his face and body, outlining surprisingly strong muscles and firm, clear-cut features hidden behind unbound chin-length hair.

"I suppose we'll have to alert Seneschal Varel. He'll want to know."

She raised a slim, arched brow in his direction.

"Since when have _you_ ever kept on the right side of the law?"

"A-an attempt was made on your life," Anders stuttered. "Now don't you think I'd want you to do the same for me were I in your position?"

"Point taken. Go alert the seneschal and I'll watch him."

"Yes, ma'am."

Anders shuffled out of the room, Ser Pounce-a-lot following in his stead. Aeryn dropped to one knee, studying the features of the man who had tried to kill her. He was in no condition to talk just yet, but soon… she would have answers.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Aeryn followed the narrow passageway through the winding corridors of the dungeon with only a torch to light her way. The air was fetid and filled with a loathsome smell—a stomach-churning mixture of mold, urine, feces, and vomit. She groped through the quasi-darkness for what seemed like an eternity, following the royal guard as he led her down the dark, rutted path. They passed by what seemed like dozens of cell blocks, each unoccupied, before coming to a long corridor. Thankfully she had donned her warmest set of armor, otherwise the chill would have gotten to her.

"It's this way. The prisoner has been quarantined for your protection. Should you decide to engage him in conversation, speak sparingly, and let him do most of the talking. Perhaps it will give him time to confess before he is hanged."

"Varel plans to execute him?"

"You'd have him live after what he did to you, milady?"

"That remains to be seen. First I want to discover the nature of this man's enmity toward me. And then I will leave him to his fate… whatever that may be."

"Yes, milady. Come along, then."

The torch illuminated their surroundings as they walked, following the path for a long time before coming to the end of the corridor. It was there the guard stopped and mounted the torch in an empty brazier next to the bars of the dingy jail cell. In the shadows, she could see a body stirring and two eyes, wolf-like and silver in the dark, gleaming back at her. Suddenly she was very sorry she had elected to leave Oghren and Anders back in the throne room of Vigil's Keep despite their protestations. Perhaps they would have shielded her from the intense scrutiny of her would-be killer.

"If it isn't the great hero, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil." The words tripped lazily from his mouth as he moved to his feet, stepping into the light. He wore a simple, unremarkable plaid homespun shirt and tunic with trousers. "Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall, with lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes? Somehow I just thought that my father's murderer would be more… _impressive_."

"Sorry to disappoint. Do I know you?" she began, leveling her voice in his direction. He was a like a dog, trained to scent fear, and it was growing more and more difficult to hold the emotion at bay the more unsettled his roving eyes made her feel.

"No. But I know you. Lady Aeryn Cousland, daughter of Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland, savior of Ferelden… murderer of my father."

"Your father?"

"You may have forgotten him, but I've not forgotten you… or the devastation you've wrought on my family. I wanted to be sure your treachery was repaid in kind."

"Listen, I don't know _who_ you are…"

"I am Nathaniel Howe. My family owned these lands until _you_ showed up."

Howe. _Yes_. That explained the damned family likeness, why he had seemed so familiar to her before. Those same eyes that stared down at her from the portrait hours before belonged to the young man in front of her, though instead of cold hauteur, they were filled with seething anger and pure hatred.

"Do you even remember my father? Or is he just another of your casualties of war?"

"_Remember him?!_ Arl Howe _killed_ my family!" she cried, scarcely aware of her own voice or the fact that, growing bolder, her hands had sought out the cold bars of his jail cell. "He deserved everything he got! And you can bet the Maker's ass I'd do it again if I had the chance."

In an instant, he was pressed up against the bars, curling his lips back into a sneer as he glared down at her.

"You Couslands were going to sell us out to the Orlesians."

"_Right_. I suppose your father told you that?" she spat with as much venom as she could muster. The man looked as though he wanted to slap her, though his confinement prevented him from doing so—thankfully.

"How could he? A Grey Warden stole in to his estate and slaughtered him before I could even talk to him. I came here… I thought I was going to try to kill you…"

"You _nearly_ did."

"…To lay a trap for you. Too late, I realized revenge was not what I desired. I just wanted to reclaim some of my family's things. It's all I have left. Surely _you_, of all people, must understand that."

"Am I to believe you've had a change of heart? A _reformed_ murderer… yeah, that's a good one. You must think me a fool to believe that."

"Believe what you will… it matters not to me. Look, I don't know what happened with the Couslands… it sounds like it was horrible."

He seemed genuinely penitent—though the idea itself was laughable. It was his father who had orchestrated the attack at Castle Highever, his father who had given the command to end the lives of her father and mother… his father who had squirmed under the sole of her boot like the pathetic weasel he was when she at last drove the blade home. There was no way she could absolve him of guilt so easily.

"You have no idea."

He continued, undeterred. "The entire war was. Whatever my father did, however, shouldn't harm my whole family. The Howes faithfully served Ferelden for twelve generations. My ancestors served under King Calenhad!"

"That's all well and good, but what of Delilah and Thomas? Am I to expect a knife in the back from either one of them as well?"

"You mean my brother, the _former_ skirt-chaser, and my sister, the common slattern? As they are now called… by _less civil_ tongues. They should hardly trouble you. Thomas is dead. And Delilah... well, let's just say she keeps interesting company these days. The Howes are pariahs now. Those of us left. It's all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Hah! Ironic, isn't it?"

He seemed to find this privately amusing, though she knew not why.

"My father used to say that irony was the Maker's way of laughing at us."

"Smart man, your father."

"Yes, he was," she said curtly. She thought for a long moment, moistening her full pink lips with the tip of her tongue. "What would you do if I let you go? And that's a _big_ 'if.'"

Though the guard had pretended not to listen, it now became abundantly clear that he had indeed; the half-murmur of protest that arose from his throat was enough to convince Aeryn he doubted her judgment.

The question was as much a surprise to Nathaniel, who exhaled sharply. He seemed genuinely stupefied by the suggestion.

"After having tried to kill you? If you let me go… I… I don't know. I only came back to Ferelden a month ago. If you let me go, I'll probably come back here. You might not catch me next time."

His surprise was replaced by a smug smile that firmed into an ear-to-ear grin.

_You foolhardy ass_, she thought, mentally cursing his poor choice of words.

"You're not making the best case for yourself, Nathaniel. Why should I give you leniency after what you've done? You almost killed me!"

"I could lie… if you prefer."

There was that dark smile of his again, sinister yet innocuous at the same time. It dimpled the corners of his mouth, causing his lip to curl upward just a bit. For the first time, she noticed the soul patch adorning his lower lip.

"No, that will do." She turned to look at the guard standing nearby. "I've decided what to do with him."

"Already?" Nathaniel queried. He turned and walked back into the darkness of his cell, where he collapsed onto a bale of hay in one corner. "Good."

"Fetch the seneschal," she ordered the guard.

"Yes, milady."

Within minutes, Seneschal Varel arrived with a small contingent of guards. The kindly elder man bowed his head toward her and then cast a wary eye at the prisoner. Nathaniel lounged about, seemingly unaffected by the knowledge that his fate would be decided in a few short minutes. He seemed to have prepared himself for the inevitability of death. That was why Aeryn had concocted something deliciously unexpected for him… something that would both absolve him of guilt and help him work off the debt he now owed to her for sparing his life not once, but twice.

"I see you've spoken to our guest," Varel said. "Quite the handful, isn't he? Have you decided what's to be done with him?"

"Yes," she said resolutely. "I wish to invoke the Right of Conscription."

"You what?!" Nathaniel bellowed in disbelief. Though he had pretended not to care, now his attention was fully focused on the matter at hand. Both hands curled around the bars of his cell and rattled them once, violently.

Varel looked as though his hearing had failed him. "I'm sorry, Commander… the Right of Conscription? On the prisoner… who tried to kill you? I do hope you know what you're doing."

"I do, Seneschal. Trust me."

"No, absolutely not!" the irate Howe repeated, his hands pummeling the bars with repeated force. "Hang me first! Drag me out into the square, and once you've done with me, quarter my limbs and send them to all corners of Amaranthine! Spare me the injustice!"

Now it was Aeryn's turn to smile. She relished the feeling of having power over her would-be murderer even more so than she relished the thought of Alistair performing the Remigold in a too-tight frilly yellow dress.

"I'm giving you a chance to redeem your name, Nathaniel. Any chance is better than no chance at all."

"Hard to say. You like having Grey Wardens who want you dead?"

"Some of my best friends have wanted me dead," she said with a sad smile, her thoughts straying to the Antivan elf who had successfully lured her into capture—and then captured her heart as well, not even a few weeks later. The memory of Zevran pained her; it was fresh and raw, like an open wound that wouldn't heal.

"You are a very strange woman. I can't decide if this is a vote of confidence or punishment," Howe spat, his eyes blazing as the guard unlatched the cell door.

"It's the chance for a new beginning. Don't make me rethink my decision," she cautioned.

"An interesting decision, Commander," Seneschal Varel observed, looking from the statuesque woman to the man of middling height and back again. The hopelessly mismatched pair seemed almost comical to him, though he was not in a position to argue with Aeryn's decision, seeing as how she was now the new ruler of Amaranthine. "Come with me, ser. Let's see if you survive the Joining."


	3. Chapter 3

III.

There was not as much a sense of pomp and circumstance as there had been in other Joining ceremonies. With only herself, Varel, and Nathaniel there to witness the occasion, it was certainly underwhelming. Firelight flickered on the walls and the shadows moved. In the darkness, Nathaniel stepped forward and accepted the cup handed to him, lifting it gingerly to his lips. There was restraint in his motions, and Aeryn already knew he fully expected a quick, easy death. It was far more humane than a hanging would ever be.

"From this moment forth, Nathaniel Howe, you are a Grey Warden."

At first, the drink had no effect on him. Then it happened; struck by an unseen force, Howe hurtled to his feet and thrust his head back, the veins in his neck distended right up to the angle of his clenched jaw. His whole body was drenched with sweat as he lurched forward, knocked unconscious as though by an invisible fist. As he lay there unmoving, her eyes honed in upon the tiny flicker of a pulse at the base of his throat, which quickened with each second.

"The Howe is stronger than I expected," Varel declared. "For better or for worse, he will live."

"Have your men bring him to my chambers and rest a while. I want to have a word with him when he awakes," Aeryn commanded.

"Yes, milady."

She returned to the throne room, where her other companions awaited word of his fate. She found Anders standing before a weapons rack, looking completely besotted with his little kitten. The tiny ball of fluff had its head lowered in a bowl no bigger than a teacup and was vigorously lapping up milk with its tongue, stomach gurgling in hunger.

Aeryn walked up to the mage and planted both hands on her hips.

"Well?" Anders queried. "What's the verdict?"

"I've thought it over, and I've decided Nathaniel's going to be joining us on our travels."

A cry of outrage pierced her ears. She hadn't pegged Anders as the type to make noises at frequencies normally inaudible to humans.

"Have you gone completely mad? He tried to kill you. He's a criminal!"

"Yeah, well, it takes one to know one, I guess," she teased.

"Oh, ouch, that hurt."

Tankard in hand, Oghren strolled up and emitted a loud belch in her face, the mere stench of it almost knocking her off her feet.

"You know, skirt boy's got a point," the dwarf slurred. "Might not be the… smartest thing letting a Howe join our ranks. Who knows what he'll try when we're snuggled up all nice and warm in our little beds…"

"Speak for yourself, dwarf. I don't intend on sleeping anywhere near you with that foul stench of yours," Anders shot. "Nor does Ser Pounce-a-lot. Isn't that right, my pretty little kitty?"

The tabby cat looked up at the apostate mage with utter adoration before jumping into his arms with a soft mewl.

"Again with the sodding cat!" Oghren groaned. "Always 'Ser Pounce-a-lot this' and 'Ser Pounce-a-lot that'… You love the filthy beast so much, why don't yeh marry it? Heh!"

"_Riveting_ as this conversation is…" Aeryn began, "We really should get back on topic. Nathaniel's joining us. That's final."

"All right. But don't expect me to save you from a knife in the back again. Once was certainly enough," Anders whined.

* * *

Stormy gray eyes fluttered open to behold the ornate surroundings. The room seemed familiar to him somehow, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The face of the woman staring down at him from the foot of the bed brought him to jarring reality within seconds. He struggled to sit upright all too fast, the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. Gently, the woman lifted a pale hand to his chest and pushed him back down. The nails were long and well-manicured, perfect cuticles framing long, unbroken white tips. The hand itself was soft and warm against his bare skin.

It was then he realized he had been stripped of his shirt and a poultice had been applied to the wound on his shoulder. The blood had crusted on the surface, sticking to the fabric of his shirt as he lay imprisoned within that cell. It was damn painful. But the thick, moist paste of the poultice was soothing on his bare skin. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

"I expect you're enjoying playing nursemaid to me now that you've freed me from my imprisonment?"

"I'd enjoy it a lot more if you were up and moving again," Aeryn said softly, her hand moving to change the dressings. His reflexes were sharp; he caught her fingers in his own for a moment before he realized what she had been reaching for. Then, feeling quite foolish, he released her hand and suffered her touch a few moments longer.

"You're of no use to me while you lay abed," she added, to further dispel any misconceptions he might have about her reasons for keeping him alive.

"And what use could I possibly be of to you, Cousland?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. Surely you must have skills of some sort."

"I have many skills. Scouting, hunting, crafting poisons. Why?"

His discerning gray eyes swept over her in one long glance, the pupils dancing behind lazy lids. He had that same appraising manner of looking at her as his father had—so cold and utterly unemotional that Aeryn was taken aback for a moment.

"I have need of a man of your talents. I need someone who can handle a ranged weapon and pick off Darkspawn from a distance while staying hidden. I need a recon expert to scout ahead and get the drop on our attackers. You more than fit the bill, so… you will be accompanying us when we leave Vigil's Keep."

"And that is?"

"Tomorrow. So rest up and ready yourself. We've a long journey ahead."

She turned to go, having finished changing his dressings, but he stopped her by reaching out and tightening his grip on her arm. Were she the sniveling, weak-hearted sort, she supposed her knees would buckle at the mere thought of his hand upon her bare flesh. Instead, she used his grip on her arm to swing herself around, bringing her face to face with the wounded man.

"_Why_ did you spare my life?"

His breath was a soft whisper in her ear.

"I already told yo—"

An insistent shake.

"The _real_ reason."

"Because I suppose… we are more alike than I care to admit."

Slowly, his hand unclenched, the knuckles turning from white to pink. They locked eyes and Nathaniel nodded deeply.

"Yes, I suppose we are."

Wordlessly, Aeryn fled the room, feeling his stare linger for a long while afterward.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

In the morning, Aeryn dressed and entered the larder, having spent the night in one of the guest rooms while Nathaniel slept off the fatigue from his injuries in what was supposed to have been her quarters. He was obviously peeved that she had installed herself in his ancestral home, thus, the concession was made. If they were to be traveling together, she'd much rather be on his good side than his bad. And already, they had gotten off to a bad start—a little blemish she was hoping to rectify with some breakfast and a cup of hot tea, brewed to perfection.

She rummaged through the fully-stocked larder, quickly making a few selections—two pieces of day-old bread, a plate of pickled ham, and some cheese—before walking with the armful of food back into the adjoining kitchen. It was surprising how little space was needed to store such an enormous amount of food, and from the looks of things, Seneschal Varel and his men had been living like kings for the past few months on the keep's hearty rations.

"Eh, you! Where're you going with that?" a woman's voice called.

A stout, formidable figure had materialized out of nowhere and was waving her aprons at the Grey Warden, looking flustered. Her red cheeks and loosely set chignon called to mind the easily nettled Nan, the woman who had run her mother's kitchens in Highever. Though a little wider in the middle, she had the same plain look about her, and she seemed equally distressed at having caught a thief "red-handed" in her larder. She had gathered up a broom in her hands, and she was using the bristly end to shoo Aeryn along.

"I'm sorry… Seneschal Varel said I could impose on your generosity a little."

"Oh, did he now?" the irascible woman sputtered. "An' just who might you be?"

"Aeryn Cousland, ruler of this arling."

"Oh blimey… I'm sorry, my lady!"

The woman made as if to curtsey, but Aeryn merely shook her head. A fountain of waist-length black hair—gathered into a ponytail at the crown of her head—cascaded majestically over one shoulder, begging in vain for a proper bath before the journey to come.

"No need. Don't trouble yourself. Just let me steal a little food and I'll be out of your hair in no time."

"By all means, my lady. Take what you like."

"Do you have a basket or something to carry of all this in?"

"Of course, my lady."

Before Aeryn could search for herself, the old woman was diving through her storehouse of treasures, tossing errant pots and pans every which way. The flying cookware landed on the nearby floor with a clatter.

"Aha! Here you go…"

The cook produced a small basket and tucked inside it a quilted napkin. As Aeryn lowered the food into the basket, she managed a smile that wasn't quite polite.

"I'm going to also need some tea."

"I just brewed a fresh pot," the woman explained, pouring a cup brimming full before handing it Aeryn. She tucked the cup into the folds of the basket and walked toward the door.

"Thank you for your help."

"Yes, my lady."

She took the steps to the keep two at a time, hoping to arrive before Nathaniel had awakened. With any luck, she could slip in undetected, arrange the breakfast, and be gone before he had even opened an eye.

Naturally, that was not what happened.

When she arrived, the room was shining radiantly with a warm orange glow, and the heavy brown curtains had been drawn to emit sunlight. Particles of dirt and dust polluted the air as she entered and set the basket on the table nearest the door. The bed was unoccupied, the covers mussed and in disarray, the impression of a bodily form sinking deep into the mattress. Her eyes darted around, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, her hand went to the dagger at her side, more out of instinct than choice, and she prowled the floor with predatory intensity. Her eyes landed on every corner of the room, searching yet failing to pick out the rogue. Blinking rapidly, she relaxed the dagger in her hand.

"Have you come to finish the job?" a deep male voice said from behind her.

She spun about to see Nathaniel standing there in nothing but his smallclothes, one palm pressed against the three-inch incision in his shoulder where the poultice had been. She sheathed the dagger mechanically, the steel producing a soft scraping sound against the leather scabbard. He scowled.

"You should not have taken that off," she said, rushing instantly to him without stopping to ask how he had managed to creep up on her.

"It was beginning to sting."

"That just meant the medicine was working." She exhaled. "At least I was about to change your dressings."

Nathaniel's eyes settled on the basket of food hovering just within reach, the snarl on his lips growing feral as he realized just how long it'd been since he had last taken a meal. Without waiting for permission, he strode forward and dug into the contents of the basket, breaking off bite-sized pieces of bread that he began popping into his mouth.

"There's uh… tea as well," Aeryn said, scrambling to keep up with him. As he stood there shoving food in his mouth with an extremely satisfied sigh, she handed him the cup. He downed the contents in one gulp, blanching when the full force of it hit him.

"You call this tea?"

"I had it made fresh." She paused. "The least you can do is say thank you."

When it was clear he was going to do no such thing, she stood hastily and walked toward the door, but before she had gotten very far, she was interrupted by his brutish voice, which said perhaps too harshly, "Thomas spoke of you often."

One pale hand lingered on the door frame.

"He did?"

Between mouthfuls, Nathaniel replied, "Don't sound so hopeful. Thomas made eyes at every pretty girl who crossed his path—and declared each one more beautiful than the last. Though Father seemed to think there was more to his attentions toward you than he was letting on. Perhaps, had you two carried on as you were, we would have had a wedding and not a funeral to celebrate."

"How did he…" She licked her lips and started again. "How did he die?"

"He met his end during the war," he said without turning to look at her. "The poor sod. Always was adventurous to a fault." He cut into the block of cheese and sucked hungrily on a single slice. "I was away in the Free Marches. But from what I understand, it was a quick death… much less painful than the death that surely awaited him had he returned to rejoin father in his frivolous conquest of Highever."

"You speak as though you disapprove of what your father did, but I have difficulty believing you."

"Yet you spared my life and made me a Grey Warden. That's an awful lot of trust to place in someone you doubt."

"Perhaps." She thought for a moment. "Our fathers were friends once. They even fought side by side as fellow men-at-arms at the Battle of White River. Perhaps my father saw in yours what I see in you now. I'm kind of hoping you don't disappoint me."

"That's an awful lot of pressure to place on a man who has an entire family line to redeem."

"Just think of it as a step in the right direction."

"I suppose so." Turning a cold shoulder toward her, he said irritably, "Away. I've done talking."

"Have you now? Right, well then I suppose you won't have any trouble applying _this_ yourself," she growled in outrage, picking up the new dressings from the table and throwing them at him, causing the man to startle. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out. And when you've decided to be more sociable, you can join us in the throne room, where we will meet before venturing into the city proper. If you feel so inclined, of course."

_Insufferable bastard. I hope you choke on your bread and die a horrible, slow, gut-wrenching death._

With a slam of the door that rattled the keep's windows, she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

V.

The throne room of Vigil's Keep boasted twelve lit stone lamps of the highest quality, two chandeliers, and two suits of armor stationed by the entrance. Heraldic banners hung from wrought iron posts, and vaulted ceilings stretched ever upward to a seemingly endless height. Big square columns and horizontal cross beams of varying lengths reached on high, providing support to the massive weight.

It was a far cry from the outer ramparts of the fortress, which were in slow, dissolving collapse—so much so that one of the dwarven stonemasons had taken it upon himself to personally see to the repairs. Were the Darkspawn ever to gain dominion over Amaranthine, then all of Ferelden would certainly fall.

During the time of the Orlesian occupation, Amaranthine had risen to prominence as the site of some of Ferelden's most historically significant battles. Under the Howe reign, the Orlesians had been defeated in Amaranthine, and Vigil's Keep was the first to raise the banner to signal the tyranny had at last been vanquished.

It was so strange to think that here, in these unassuming, quiet halls, men had fought and died to preserve their freedom.

_Not much has changed in the years since Orlais was defeated. Only now we have a new enemy to face… one far less likely to concede defeat._

Aeryn paced the hall, stuffing her pack full of some personal effects before waiting for her companions to arrive. As expected, they were late, so she passed the time by examining the keep's defenses, her eyes searching for any structural weakness, any flaw in design that might need monitoring in the weeks to come.

Just as she was finishing her circuit about the room, Anders at last made his appearance—and not a moment too soon. The apostate mage looked as though he had dressed in a hurry; his uncombed blonde hair hung in matted draggles over his shoulders instead of in a ponytail, and his robes had been tied haphazardly, without the slightest bit of care.

"Rough night?" she couldn't resist asking.

"You might say that. Ser Pounce-a-lot was taken ill with… issues of a feline nature."

"Let me guess… furballs?"

"Worse, actually."

"Oh, ew. I didn't need to know that," Aeryn chided him. "Now I've got mental images I can't quite erase."

"I suppose the warm milk didn't quite sit right with him; poor thing."

"_Just_ what we need to add to our menagerie—a sodding _barfing_ cat!" A short, stocky figure ambled over toward them, leaning against one of the wooden support beams with a giant axe slung over his left shoulder. "Better bring the nose plugs. Kitty puke stinks something fierce!"

"On his worst day, Ser Pounce-a-lot would never smell half as bad as you, _dwarf_," Anders shot back.

"Heh! Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of his berth today, eh, skirt boy?"

"Good morning, Oghren," Aeryn said with a pleasant little smile. "You sleep well?"

The irritable dwarf scratched the back of his head as though he wanted to rub the thought from his mind.

"A little _too well_, if you know what I mean. Woke up between the thighs of some scullery maid. Well… _maid's_ a bit of an understatement, really. Bloody old enough to be my mother twice over! Quite the cougar, that one. Don't quite know how the scratch marks came about, though."

"You… _might_ want to spare the lovely lady all the gory details of your nocturnal exploits," Anders suggested properly, though it was clear from the grin on his face he otherwise approved.

"Ever the gentleman, this one," Oghren said with a snort. "Speaking of gentlemen, where's our illustrious little blighter? Sleeping in? Waiting for room service to wait on him? Filling his tub with bath salts?"

"Getting ready. He should be meeting us down here in a few minutes," Aeryn informed them both. "I expect you both to be civil."

"I'd never be anything _but_."

"I mean it, Oghren!"

"Oh, sod it. Fine. Have it your way."

"That's better."

Excusing herself for the moment, Aeryn ran some quick errands—handing over salvaged ore to the weapon smith, Wade; selling some of her items; and returning to the larder for more rations from the cook. Upon re-entering the throne room, she noticed Nathaniel was standing to one corner, solemnly surveying the portrait of a woman wearing a gold and diamond necklace and garbed in a gown composed primarily of scarlet lace, with black silk sleeves and facings. She was a cold, hard woman with a face so rigid and unnatural that, for a moment, Aeryn thought she might have been painted while wearing a mask.

One guess as to who this was.

"Funny," Nathaniel began, sensing her presence even as she crept up behind him. All the anger he had directed at her in their previous conversation seemed to have dissipated, and in its place was a quiet reflectiveness. "Considering all the things that have been taken, it _figures_ this would still be here."

"Your mother?" Aeryn began tentatively, unsure of how to proceed. The topic of his family was a tricky one indeed. Part of her wasn't certain she wanted to know any more about him. The Howes were monsters, the lot of him, and if it was up to her, Nathaniel would be paying for it the rest of his life with a fruitless redemption quest.

Staring up at her portrait in his presence was incredibly… _humanizing_, somehow. She didn't like that.

"Good guess. That's her," he said with a definite note of fondness. Aeryn found it difficult to believe this cold woman had ever been capable of any affection toward the boy, but perhaps looks were indeed deceiving. "My father hated my mother. He only dragged this painting out when my grandmother visited… which was not often. I'd be paraded before her like a soldier on inspection, and he would pick over every flaw while Father awaited his turn."

"She is very pretty," Aeryn observed.

"Yes, she _was_."

"Was? You mean she's no longer with us?"

His jaw tensed visibly as though he was struggling to hold his emotions at bay. It was only for a moment, and then his steely exterior had returned.

"She died of consumption when I was an infant. I think Father blamed her for leaving him alone with three young children under the ages of ten… no matter that we were assigned to the care of a governess thereafter. He never really had any part in my life, my father. It was only recently I came to have more of a relationship with him." He paused. "I… don't know why I'm telling you this…"

Not knowing how to respond, Aeryn chose instead to change the subject.

"So, do you have any _good_ memories of your family?"

"That does qualify as a fond memory," Nathaniel said with a sheepish grin, trying to suppress his own laughter. "I know, I know. It's strange. I was in the Free Marches for almost eight years. I don't have many recent memories of my family at all."

It was almost a shame. Had she not been so vehemently opposed to the Howes and their ilk, she supposed she would even feel sorry for him. Not knowing the love of a family… that was not something she could relate to. Bryce and Eleanor had always been liberal with their affections, showering her and her brother Fergus with constant positive reinforcement every time they so much as lifted a finger to please them. It was clear from observing Nathaniel now that he had no such stabilizing force in his life. He had been unloved and unwanted by the very man who had sired him.

That explained a lot, but it also excused nothing.

"I have only one memory of you, if you are interested in hearing it," Aeryn said, albeit bashfully.

"Indeed I am."

"It was at Vallis Ashford's summer cotillion. Do you remember?"

"Ghastly affair that it was… how in the name of the Maker could I forget?" Nathaniel said with a rare smile.

"You flat-out _refused_ to dance with any of the ladies."

"I was twelve! Surely you can't still hold me at fault for that."

"Well, _I_ don't… but when last I saw Vallis, she couldn't stop talking about how much you had 'ruined' the whole affair with your constant sulking."

"You can tell Vallis when you see her that I'm a changed man. And I would be happy to dance with her now."

"I will make mention of it next time," she said with a grin.

_If there is a next time. There's no telling how many Darkspawn are out there now, swarming the lands…_

Caught in the middle of her reverie, she hadn't noticed Anders and Oghren drift over to greet the new arrival. In his arms, the mage held the sick kitten, whispering what he hoped were comforting words, while the dwarf merely wandered over with a naughty glint in his eye.

"Well, if it isn't the paragon of virtue himself. They talked about you in the army, you know. The commander's brother, Fergus Cousland, said you wouldn't have the stones to show your face again. But you proved old Fergie wrong, didn't ya? Good on you, son. I respect that."

"Are you mocking me, dwarf?"

Perfect black eyebrows knotted over squinting eyes as Nathaniel glared at him with a look of pure and utter loathing.

"Well, don't go getting your smallclothes in a twist about it. Just tryin' to take the piss out of ya!" He extended one thick hand, which Nathaniel looked hesitant to shake. "Don't you worry… Oghren's got your back."

"Thanks… I think." His discerning gaze turned to the nearby mage who was covered in kitten. "And you?"

"Anders at your service."

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking unimpressed.

"Am I to expect any smart remarks from you as well, Mage? Have at it now, if so. I don't normally tolerate ridicule."

"You must think me incredibly camp."

"Well, you are wearing those hideous robes, aren't you?"

"Oh, ouch. I think I'm going to like this fellow just fine," Anders said as he shot a grin at Aeryn. "Now then, where to, fearless leader?"

"Amaranthine. Do you have everything with you?"

Oghren pretended to take inventory of his belongings.

"Ale… check. Chasind sack mead… check. West Hill brandy… check. Everything's present and accounted for, Warden. Just give the order."

"Follow me."

The four travelers filed out of the throne room and into the square, which was bustling with activity. Merchants and artisans carefully guarded their shops, peddling their wares to the soldiers and their families that had taken up residence in the town. As Aeryn, Anders, Nathaniel, and Oghren walked by, the townspeople stopped what they were doing to watch them pass with reverence. The slow, silent promenade up the main road seemed to take hours, though it could not have been more than a few minutes.

It wasn't until they were through the gates of the city that the villagers resumed their routine, as if nothing unusual had happened.

The long journey to the city of Amaranthine had at last begun.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

The trek to Amaranthine was mercifully short, lasting little more than half a day in total. They scarcely had time to break into their rations before they arrived at the city walls. Situated along the sinuous northeastern coast of Ferelden, the vast, silent city resembled a ghost town with dilapidated cottages, broken windows, and nary a soul in sight. The fields of wheat and corn were eerily still, not unlike the oppressive calm before the onset of a storm. Aeryn got a sense of foreboding just setting foot inside the city gates.

"They used to display the heads of traitors over that gate," Nathaniel observed soberly. "I suppose my father is lucky his didn't end up there."

With a bead of resentment in his eye, he glowered at her, all the warmth gone from his demeanor in an instant. It was clear their problems were not something that could be smoothed over with a bit of breakfast and some reminiscing about the good old days. Aeryn would have to be patient in order to break through to him, though she was not so sure the reward was worth the risk. He still held her accountable for his father's murder, and likely would for some time yet. Was it really so wise for her to have recruited him to their team? Only time would tell.

After receiving assignments from Constable Aidan to track down and eliminate a band of smugglers that had been terrorizing the city, the companions went about their tasks. Twenty manned military posts and guard houses situated high above the stronghold's walls overlooked various centers of city traffic and key road entrances—though not _every_ entrance. In the back room of _The Crown and Lion Inn_, they slipped through a hidden passageway and straight into the smugglers' den. The battle was over before it began. The smugglers were caught off-guard. Many fell where they had slept, the others spurred to action by the twang of a bowstring pulled taut as Nathaniel leveled shot after rapid shot in their direction.

After collecting on their reward from the affable constable, they sought out shelter for the night at _The Crown and Lion Inn_. As they shuffled inside the dingy little establishment, the overpowering scent of alcohol and stale sweat flooded their nostrils. Dozens of bodies had been piled into the main room, which seemed to house more than half the town's populace, and some of the women were hanging luridly over the balustrade. Thankfully, the inn still had rooms to let.

Aeryn was bone tired and weary from fighting so many battles. Although she was glad that Nathaniel had her back in a fight, she could sense that something was weighing heavily on his mind. She paid the innkeep two silvers for a round of drinks and climbed the stairs to their room for the night.

Inside, the stately room was flanked dramatically on either side by windows facing both north and east. A massive fire blazed in the hearth, heating the room to an almost unbearable temperature. The north-most window offered an unobstructed view of the long, loping bridge in the distance, upon which a few groups of armed guards stood gathered. Aeryn had visited Amaranthine only once before with her father on an urgent matter of business, and the town's quaint charm was still unmistakable, even in her fatigued state.

Anders and Oghren had already made themselves at home, playing a round of cards on the table nearest the window. Nathaniel sat before the hearth, restringing his bow while balancing it carefully across his exposed knees. His touch when handling the weapon was gentle and precise, and so utterly uncharacteristic of him. The thought of those careful and capable hands wringing her next only a night ago was enough to send a chill down her spine as she approached him with drinks in hand.

"Can I interest you in a brandy?" she asked, seating herself without asking his permission. He looked annoyed as his gaze flitted toward her.

"Not at the present." He seemed to amend that statement when he noticed her displeasure. "Never fear… I plan on getting good and drunk enough before the night is out."

"Don't mind if I start without you, then?"

"By all means."

She downed the insidious-looking contents of the tankard in one long draught, setting the cup aside once the effects of the alcohol hit her. Her head exploded in a burst of stinging pain that lanced through it as though someone had driven a spike through her brain; she _had_ always been the lightweight of the family, after all.

"Wow, that certainly packs a wallop…"

"I thought the Couslands always knew how to hold their liquor," Nathaniel sniped.

"My brother's the best. He could drink you right under the table."

"Somehow, the thought doesn't surprise me."

Nathaniel continued working, maintaining a cool, professional façade. His fingers worked with expert precision, having apparently done this hundreds of times on frequent journeys through the Free Marches. Within minutes he had finished, and he pulled the bow up and aimed at an invisible target to be sure it bent evenly at full draw. Satisfied with his inspection, he placed it on the floor beside the discarded quiver of arrows.

"Is something on your mind, Nathaniel?"

"Nothing I wish to trouble you with, that's for certain."

"So there is something."

"Yes, but I don't expect _you_ to understand."

"Try me. I might surprise you."

With an exasperated sigh, Nathaniel reached for and swiped the remaining tankard off the table. "Andraste's blood, but you are persistent."

"So I'm told."

He began with hesitation, sipping lightly at the frothy brew. "It's my sister, Delilah."

"What of her?"

"I'm told she married a storekeeper here in Amaranthine. But apart from that I know nothing. I was thinking… well, perhaps tomorrow we could ask around the shops for her? I haven't spoken to her in years. Not since… well, since Father died."

_Not since you killed him_, was really what he had wanted to say, though it wasn't for lack of courage. He had been civil and tolerant of her thus far; who knew for how long his good will would hold out? She had to afford him this one chance to discover what had become of his sister; she needed his attention fully focused on the mission at hand, and with his thoughts otherwise occupied, that was going to be difficult.

"Yes, of course. We'll search for her in the morning."

He looked as though his ears had failed him, his slack jaw betraying his surprise.

"Really? I suppose I should… thank you."

"Well, it wouldn't kill you."

That had apparently been the wrong thing to say, because Nathaniel's reply was ever so slightly sharp and scolding. "Try to understand, Warden-Commander. I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that my father's murderer sits before me… _unpunished_. You'll forgive me if I seem a little cautious."

That was all the provocation she needed to unleash hell on him, the memories of her last days at Castle Highever flooding back into her mind with effortless ease.

"And you must forgive me if I seem a bit presumptuous, but I think I speak the truth when I say that I've suffered just as much as you. Can you even imagine the hell I went through that night? It was a slaughter, a massacre… No one was spared. Not even my friend, Ser Gilmore. Not even Lady Landra, or Iona, or _Dairren_…" She grimaced as she recalled the sight of her lover's body gored on the pike of a Howe guardsman as he opened the door to an unexpected surprise. "Not even my beloved sister-in-law, Oriana, or her precious little son, Oren. That boy had _no_ chance. He was only eight! What I wouldn't give to hold them both again and tell them how much I loved them."

Her voice cracked with emotion even though she had vowed not to cry. She didn't want him to detect the merest hint of anger in her voice and then use it to his advantage, to evoke a sorrowful plea of forgiveness from her. That wasn't going to happen. Arl Rendon Howe was a traitor who deserved to be put down like the mad dog he was. She had murdered him with pleasure, reliving the moment one too many times until her mind had all but distorted the reality that he _hadn't_ actually begged for his life while lying prostrate on the ground.

"Your father stole that chance from me. What he did to my family was beyond horrific. So I think I have a right to be just as angry and bitter as you… if not more."

"Don't you dare presume to tell me your pain is greater than mine," he snapped, glowering at her coldly. "To do so would only insult me more. Speak to me again when the Cousland name has been dragged through the mud, smeared by baseless, tawdry, facile accusations."

"I am sorry about what happened to your family, Nathaniel… really, I am. But the blame was not mine alone. Your father was not entirely guiltless, as you well know."

"Am I to be punished for what he did the rest of my life?"

He had a point. Though the old adage "like father, like son" threatened to override clear thought at that moment, she could see through the layers of protective self-delusion to the man he was beneath: fearful, frustrated, and altogether weary of fighting a losing battle. Were she in his position, she would be worried too. The once-proud house of Howe was now little more than an ancestral order tainted by a legacy of politically motivated brutality, bad debt, and scandal.

The stirrings of pity that had arisen in her heart upon hearing Nathaniel's stories of his childhood had returned once again to haunt her, bringing with them both clarity and perspective.

"Not by me, no. I want to help you."

"You say that, and then you go leveling accusations at me just like the rest of them," Nathaniel said dismissively, rising to indicate the conversation was over. On his way past her, he grabbed his tankard of ale and brought it with him to drink in solitude.

Fine. If that was how it was to be, let him have his pity party. He would come around sooner or later, when he needed her help locating Delilah Howe in the expansive markets of Amaranthine. And when he did, she would be ready to gloat over her little victory.

Staring into the fire, Aeryn's eyes grew watery from gazing at the dancing flames and leaping sparks. A disembodied hand roused her from a confused silence. Looking up, she saw that the arm belonged to Anders.

"May I?" he asked before flattening his bottom on the seat across from her where Nathaniel had been sitting.

"Go right ahead. I don't really feel like talking, though."

"Our fearless leader at a loss for words?! I can scarce believe it!"

No matter what kind of a mood she was in, Anders' sense of humor was enough to lighten the mood. The somberness that had settled upon the room was unsettling after the talk she'd had with the young Howe. She didn't like being left alone to her thoughts, troubling as they were.

"So who won the match?"

"Oghren… though only by default. To tell the truth, neither one of us was in a state to do any counting. And card games are just _full_ of them."

"That they are." She pursed her full lips in a smile. "Speaking of which, where is our friend?"

"Passed out on the floor. Go have a look-see."

True to his word, as Aeryn lifted her head to peer past the mage's broad shoulders, there lay the dwarf, face-down, in the tattered threads of the rug. He was snoring soundly, his great chest heaving with the effort. A stench far greater than usual was emanating throughout the room. He was dead drunk all right. It would take an earthquake—or more—to wake him. Even with Ser Pounce-a-lot curled up in a ball on his back, purring, he was completely oblivious.

"Well, at least we can be grateful he still has his clothes on and decided to spare us an impromptu striptease."

"A notion I firmly second," Anders agreed. "So… what were you and him talking about alone over here, looking all cozy?"

Just when she was about to snap that it was none of his business, an idea hit her. Perhaps the apostate mage would have thoughts about how to deal with a difficult man like Nathaniel. One minute he was hot, the next he was cold—surely the world-weary Anders had come across this peculiar breed of man in all his travels.

"He still holds me accountable me for the murder of his father. I'm having a hard time making him see things my way. He understands what I'm saying, but he won't agree with me."

"Yes, the whole brooding act seems to agree with him, doesn't it?"

"Unfortunately."

"Well, it's like they say… you can't teach an old trick new dogs…" His face contorted for a moment as his befuddled mind groped for the correct meaning. "Or was it the other way around?"

Aeryn rolled her eyes.

"Anyway… one thing I've learned in seven escape attempts is that people are mostly relentless. Once they're on about something, they scarcely give up, even when they know they're wrong and the bloke they've accused is as innocent as the day is long… But what I'm trying to say—in a very roundabout way, of course—is that… Take Nathaniel, for instance. Nice guy, totally misunderstood. Everyone hates his family for something terrible he did, even though he wasn't involved! So of course he's going to blame those responsible. And you just happened to get grouped in with the lot of them…"

"And I just _happened_ to kill his father, too."

"Right, there's that. Look at it this way… you can't spend your time trying to please all of us. You think Oghren over there worries about whether his companions like him? Andraste's breath, no! He belches and farts and makes rude gestures when he thinks no one's looking…"

"He does?"

"Point is, you can't win with everyone, love. So why bother trying?"

"I just wish there was some way the two of us could come to an understanding so we won't be at each other's throats for the remainder of our mission. It will make life a lot easier on all of us."

"Don't concern yourself with such things. Ten silvers says Nathaniel drinks himself into a stupor and has forgotten the whole quarrel tomorrow morning."

"I see your ten silvers, and I raise you forty. He most certainly will _not_."

"Oh, you're on," Anders said with a smile before waving goodnight and staking out a nice piece of carpet to relax on.

Finishing her drink, Aeryn washed and readied for bed, ignoring the solitary silhouette that sat overlooking the village square below, cup in hand. As she climbed into bed that night, hoping sleep would banish the renewed memories of Nathaniel's ire toward her, she released a sigh and relaxed into the soft, gossamer-like pillows. Sleep soon overtook her, and she sunk down into the warm bed, completely at ease for the first time in what seemed like months.


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

Her lids felt like lead weights as she struggled to open them, the hissing sound of the fire filling her head with painful noise. As she sat up within the familiar reaches of the camp she had called home for so many months, she felt as though she was staring at a mirror-reflection of herself that was moving and acting independently of her own desires. Relieved to have been freed of her body, she watched her dream-self approach the edge of the woods where the sleek, lithe form of the camp's primary sentry stood guard.

At her approach, the tanned elf turned to face her with a crooked smirk, his blonde hair tousled across his shoulders. Clad in form-fitting leather, a knife buried in his boot, Zevran moved with the silky precision of a trained assassin, his eyes seeking her in the darkness before her footsteps had even announced her presence.

"You should not sneak up on people in the dark, my fair Grey Warden," he purred in the thick, honeyed accent of his homeland, Antiva.

"I didn't mean to startle you," she watched herself say.

"Startle me?" he began with a laugh. "Come, come, my dear. It would take much more than that to startle me."

_I'd forgotten that elves have excellent hearing… _Though she hadn't said the words, they punctuated the dozy silence with intensity.

"_And_ even faster reflexes. The better to _test_ your endurance."

His eyes twinkled with impish delight, the burgundy tattoo on his left cheek catching the fire's glow.

"Don't misunderstand the reason for this visit."

"Ahhh… so you have need of me in other—_less lurid_—ways, I presume? For shame, woman! You know just how my flesh burns for yours. You are teasing me! Oh, the cruelty!"

With remarkable effort, she began again in a voice filled with pain and protest.

"I'm being serious, Zev. I need to know why you left me without a word." It was more an order than a request. "I just woke up one day… and you were gone. No letter… nothing. I was devastated. I opened my heart to you… I loved you. How could you do that?"

As he did with all matters of the heart, he used his lips to communicate to her what words could not. His lips were so warm, so full and inviting. His fingers rubbed her sides before settling on the contours of her waist, pulling her deeper into the kiss. Beguiled by the touch of his hands upon her body, she melted into his kiss, all her misgivings about the past six months gone in an instant.

No, this was not how the dream was supposed to go.

He was supposed to supply her with some explanation about his disappearance. But instead she was going to suffer the torture of having to remember all the things she missed most about him. The feel of his lips upon hers, the scent of leather and musk that clung to his body at all times, the adorable habit he had of squinting at her even though she stood only two feet before him…

Maker, how she missed him.

The kiss ended all too soon. Once their lips had broken contact, Zevran regarded her with a sorrowful expression.

"Alas, you cannot stay, my Warden. You must wake…"

As the vision around her began to fade, the camp fell apart and she was pulled through a tunnel back into her body, his gleaming eyes burning into her brain while the darkness consumed her.

* * *

She jolted awake so fast that her head almost connected with the mage's, who was stooped over her with one hand on her forearm in an attempt to rouse her from slumber. Anders' eyes bugged out when he ducked to avoid a near cranium collision.

"Andraste's breath!" he said while grasping his chest in sheer terror. "Remind me never to wake you again."

"Sorry," Aeryn replied, running one hand through her long unbound hair. "I… I was dreaming."

"And grinning very stupidly, I might add," Anders said with a waggle of his eyebrows. "It must have been _some_ dream."

"Let's just say I'm glad it's over."

After procuring breakfast from the barkeep downstairs, Aeryn ate quickly and dressed. By the time she had finished readying for the day, her three companions were back in the room in full gear, their weapons equipped. She avoided looking at Nathaniel as she explained the day's agenda: first they would see to any errands that needed doing for the Chantry, then they would visit the grocer to try to restock their rations, and then they would attempt to locate Delilah Howe, who was said to have resided somewhere within the merchants' quarters.

For their first order of business, they located the Amaranthine Chantry, situated high atop the rest of the city on an elevated platform. No sooner had they ascended the stairs than the familiar voice of a woman said, "Commander? Is that you, Commander?"

As the brilliant white sunlight cleared, Aeryn's vision came back to her, and what met her eyes was like a dream. There before her stood Wynne, looking as prim and proper as ever in her red and gold Chantry robes, a white bun pulled taut at the nape of her neck.

"Wynne!"

Abandoning all pretense of authority, the armor-clad warden rushed forward and encompassed the elderly mage in a giant bear hug. It lasted for several seconds before she finally released her, both arms still grasping Wynne's shoulders warmly.

"Well, if it isn't the Warden-Commander."

"It's good to see you, my old friend."

"And you, Commander. You are looking well."

"I have to say, the city air agrees with me."

"Yes, it does tend to have that effect," Wynne acknowledged. "I hear the Darkspawn are not retreating as they should. It sounds like the Wardens have their hands full."

"To put it lightly."

"I'd offer to help, but I'm afraid my presence is required elsewhere. The College of the Magi is convening in Cumberland, and I must attend. Hopefully, all this will blow over before it's begun. But you have enough on your mind as it is. I shan't trouble you with this further."

Aeryn sought her hand with an affectionate squeeze.

"I really wish we could have more time to catch up. I've missed you."

"And I you." She grimaced, not quite knowing how to broach the subject. "And Zevran? Does he still travel with you?"

The mere mention of his name was enough to elicit a reaction from Aeryn. She sighed once, loudly, to drive the point home. For too long had her thoughts been consumed by the rogue's departure; she was tired of feeling like a miserable, mopey mess.

"We parted ways shortly after the king's coronation."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It was amicable."

_I think._

"In that case, I'm sure it was for the best. You were both very different. It sometimes confounds me to think of what brought you together in the first place."

If she was truly being honest with herself, the answer was _sex and alcohol_. She knew now the two should never mix—that these were the disastrous results of having done so. Zevran had come to her each night with a new bottle of alcohol he had swiped from Oghren's pack, and they would sit together before the fire consuming it, speaking of their lives before the Blight—and what they had planned once the war was over. It had seemed so far in the distance then that she could scarcely believe this was the same future she had dreamed about night after night.

"In any case, I wish him well. His path will take him to a different destination than yours, and you must accept that. Your place is with the Grey Wardens."

"I know," she said quietly. "It's the place where I can do the most good."

"And you're doing a fine job," Wynne said appreciatively. "Sometimes it warms me to think of how far you've come since you first burst into the Circle Tower to aid me against those abominations. Your parents would have been proud of the woman you've become."

"Thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that."

"You're welcome. Now then... I won't detain you any longer, Commander. It was good to see you."

"Safe travels, Wynne."

With a final embrace, the women parted ways. As Aeryn shuffled up to the Chanter's Board for some new assignments, it was clear her companions were waiting for her to elaborate on what they had just witnessed. The mage failingly attempted to disguise a rather obnoxious cough.

"Always did have a nice rack for her age!" Oghren observed.

"You never told me you'd been to the Circle Tower," Anders added. "I mean, you've heard me talk about it how many umpteen times, and you've never once mentioned it! Not like, 'Oh, sorry, Anders… it slipped my mind,' but more like, 'Haha! Who's out of touch _now_, Anders?'"

"Honestly? You never asked. And I didn't feel like I wanted to volunteer the information. It has little or no bearing on our current objective."

"But…"

"Don't press the matter," Nathaniel spoke up. "If the commander wishes to talk about it, she will talk about it. Until then, sod off."

There was little that Anders could say to that, so instead he focused on fuming in silence while the dwarf cackled with glee.

"Thank you," Aeryn mouthed. With a nod, Nathaniel acknowledged her.

In the market square, they quickly located the pot-bellied grocer, Octham, who sold them the healing potions they needed to complete their Chantry mission. Just as Aeryn was tossing the silvers into the open palm of the man, Nathaniel went stock-still beside her, his whole body freezing up.

"That's _her_. It's _really_ her."

"What?"

She concluded her business and then gave Anders the potions to store in his pouch.

"That's Delilah," Nathaniel repeated, his eyes trained on a woman in the distance. She exited the filthy corner hovel by the weaponsmith, a pail of water balanced on one shoulder as she labored to cross the street with it. Her free hand had dropped to rest on the burgeoning swell of her belly, which visibly told them that she was in at least the second trimester of her pregnancy. Her once-glossy brown hair had lost its luster and sat in two neat braids on either side of her head.

"We must go to her," Nathaniel said with resolve, not waiting for her to respond as he crossed the road, fingers fussing with his hair to make it appear more presentable. On his approach, the other woman looked up, gasping a little.

"Need a hand with that?"

"Oh, my heavens… Nathaniel! I had feared the worst!"

She set down the pail of water with a loud grunt and threw her arms around his broad shoulders in a tackle-hug that caused many passersby to stop and stare. She had to stand on her tip-toes to reach him; she was fairly diminutive in stature.

"Delilah… is it really you?"

"'Course it's really me, you ninny." She ensnared the flesh of his forearm between thumb and forefinger and delivered a sharp pinch. "Still think you're dreaming?"

"Still hoping I'm not."

"Well, once you're done staring, why don't you come in for a spot of tea? You can meet Albert at last! Oh, Nate… so much has happened since you've been away in the Free Marches. Really, we must talk."

His hand on her elbow stopped from turning right then and disappearing into the pathetically small mud-brick hovel. The house—if it could even be called such—was in such a deplorable state that it saddened him to think that this was what her life had become. Compared to his father's estate, it was a pauper's abode, not fit for one of Delilah's status. The squalor in which she now lived was downright insulting.

"Times must have been hard, Delilah," he began darkly, "But you can do better than this. Come back to the estate until we find somewhere else. I will see to it you are attended by your own personal steward. You can live comfortably there for a while."

"What?" A little peal of girlish laughter escaped her lips. "Oh, Nate! I didn't marry Albert out of desperation. I adore him! I was so glad to get away from Father's evil—this life is so much better. _Simpler_… but better."

"Father's evil?" he asked in indignation, though he couldn't find it in his heart to get too upset at his beloved sister. She was, after all, the only family he had left. "Isn't that overstating things a little? He got caught up in politics…"

"Wipe the clouds from your eyes. You always worshiped Father. You didn't see what he did, Nathaniel."

"He had his reasons. It was a war, for Andraste's sake! Before I went to the Free Marches, he was never… he… how could he have changed so much? What if I'd never left? I didn't have much choice, but still… I wish I'd known of this sooner. I feel like such a fool."

"You couldn't possibly have known, brother. You were away, and all the world went to ruin in your absence. Father was corrupted by the same evil that corrupted Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir when he cast his lot in with him."

"It's all a bit much to grasp."

"Come, brother. Let us sit and catch up a bit, shall we? This is not a conversation to be had in public." For the first time, she seemed to realize that the three figures standing behind him were _with_ him. "Your friends can come too."

"If you two need some time alone to talk about things, we would be happy to wait out here until you're done," Aeryn explained.

"Nonsense! I won't take no for an answer!"

The five of them ducked into the one-room house, surveying their surroundings. There were pallets of straw on the dirt floor for beds, and thick tallow candles and rushes contributed to the unpleasant smell permeating the air. A simple fireplace dominated the interior, the ashes from the previous night's fire having spilled out onto the ground at the feet of the man who sat at the kitchen table.

So this was Albert.

Her much-older husband wore the crest of Amaranthine—a soldier, by the look of him, though he apparently didn't quite enjoy the ample salary of one. His hair, which had gone silver at the temples, seemed to suggest he was in his early forties or thereabouts. Nathaniel regarded him with the watchful eye of an older brother, trying to pick out any flaw in his appearance or demeanor, though he could find none. It troubled him.

"Albert, this is my brother Nathaniel. You remember me telling you about him?"

"Yes, of course."

The man stood to swiftly shake Nathaniel's hand before returning to his seat—and to polishing his soot-stained helm. The dirty old rag he was using greased the surface with hot wax, leaving a trail of gleaming metal in its wake.

"Now then—can I get you anything?" Delilah asked. "Tea, perhaps?"

"How about ale, mead, brandy? Or maybe all of the above?" Oghren said, scratching his equipment before seating himself on the dirt floor. "I've been working up a thirst all bloody morning."

"You do know it's not yet five o'clock," Anders informed him.

"'Course I know that, _Mage_. You surface-dwellers and your sodding rules! Who's to say a man can't drink whenever he damn well pleases?"

"I think I have a brandy saved up somewhere," Delilah said, searching the shelves for the missing bottle. Nathaniel was behind her in a minute, beckoning her to sit down.

"Allow me. I don't want you overexerting yourself, especially in your condition." He gazed down at her impressive belly. "Just when _are_ you due, exactly?"

"The baby won't come for another three months. I hate feeling useless up until then. I'm already very restless. He's been keeping me awake at night with his constant kicking."

"What makes you so sure it's a boy?" Aeryn couldn't resist asking, cupping the hot tea in her hands.

"I can't explain it. I just know somehow."

Nathaniel located the brandy and poured Oghren a cup, which he promptly devoured.

"We've decided we're going to name him Thomas."

"Thomas, you say? I only hope he will be able to live up to such a strapping name," Nathaniel said with a definite note of satisfaction in his voice.

"I hope so too."

For a few hours longer, they talked, until the hour grew late and it was time for them to depart Amaranthine. After saying their goodbyes to Delilah and Albert with the promise that they would return soon once the Darkspawn threat had been dealt with, the companions climbed the stairs to the Chantry to conclude their business.

On the long road to Blackmarsh—where Seneschal Varel had instructed them to locate Kristoff, a Grey Warden who had gone missing shortly before the attack of the Darkspawn—Aeryn was nettled by the silence. They had walked for what seemed like hours without even uttering a word to one another. Until…

"She seems happy, your sister."

"Yes, she does."

Silence.

"And her husband, he's very pleasant as well," Aeryn added.

"He seems a nice enough fellow, I suppose. Though he's not what I would have chosen for her had the choice been mine. Still, all that matters is her happiness. I am glad to see she is well. And… I must thank you for what you've done."

"There's no need to thank me."

"There is. I acted foolishly toward you the other night, and I said a great many things out of spite. I was not thinking clearly."

"If this is your way of apologizing, you're doing a pretty piss-poor job of it!" she teased.

"I know. I was never any good at making amends. But there you have it."

"It's a start."

"A start to what?"

She said nothing, though she was grinning from ear to ear.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.

During their time in the Blackmarsh, they followed a trail of clues that led them to the grisly scene of Kristoff's murder. The abandoned camp in the haunted marsh, where he had spent some of his last days, was laden with evidence of foul play. The corpse was already showing signs of decay by the time they arrived, the face hollow and sunken from overexposure to the environment. The murder weapon lay nearby, blood encrusted on its surface. His bedroll was empty, and a second set of tracks—presumably those belonging to the perpetrator—led away from the campsite.

They managed to recover a few of his personal effects—a locket, a box of mementos, a suit of sentinel armor, and some spoiled rations—before following the trail, stepping through a tear in the veil and straight into a scene out of a nightmare. Imprisoned within the Fade realm—shaped as a nightmarish version of Blackmarsh itself—was an entire company of spirits bound by the curse of the Orlesian Baroness who once ruled these lands.

It was there they came face to face with the First, an intelligent Darkspawn enemy with the power to do what so many before him could not—speak. And not in jumbled, haphazardly constructed sentences, but with words carefully selected to affect their target. The brief encounter had Aeryn shaken, even as they sat in camp that night on a lone stretch of deserted road in the marsh's wilds. Anders and Oghren kept watch, alternating shifts every four hours with Nathaniel and Justice, the newest addition to their team.

A Fade spirit trapped in the rapidly decaying corpse of the dead Grey Warden Kristoff, Justice was unaccustomed to his new human body. His strange manner and accent she assumed he had inherited from the deceased man, though the rest all belonged to him—the constant staring, the head turning, the cracking of bones when he tried in vain to adjust to a more comfortable position.

It was all a little disturbing.

Aeryn couldn't shake the feeling he was watching her even as she polished the salvaged sentinel armor. She continued working, excusing the perceived creepiness as fascination.

Despite looking quite heavy, the armor was surprisingly light and crafted of a very high quality black steel. The winged helm glowed red from within, the breastplate embossed with a crimson-hued dragon's face. Her hands swept the surface with a dirty rag she had scavenged from Kristoff's camp, polishing the metal to a mirror finish. To keep the vambraces and arm greaves from rusting, she gave it more elbow grease, her hands working swiftly and steadily.

"You've been watching me for a while now," she said at length, growing frustrated with the attention. "Mind if I ask why?"

"I can sense that this was my armor at one time—no, not mine, but his. The mortal who inhabited this body before me. He felt very strongly about this set. I can sense a very strong attachment to the bracers, in particular. Something about them being a gift. Perhaps from someone important to him."

"Do you want it? Just say the word and it's yours. You're going to need some better armor to battle Darkspawn anyway," she said, chancing a glance at the plain clothes he now wore. They were moth-eaten and stained with blood, a chilling reminder of the former occupant's murder. She would feel much better once he was out of them and into a proper suit of armor so she didn't have to look at the blood all the time and be reminded they were traveling with a living zombie.

"Yes, I should like that very much. Thank you."

"Not at all," Aeryn said with a dismissive wave of the hand, turning the armor over to him before going to stake out a little piece of ground to sit down and play with Ser Pounce-a-lot. The orange tabby cat was definitely putting on weight, as he looked much thicker in the middle, largely due to Anders overfeeding him. It didn't take long to tire him out, and soon he was curled up on a ball in her lap, his soft purring transformed into gentle snores.

"I see you've made friends," a voice quietly said. Aeryn looked up to see Anders, returned from his shift, easing down beside her into a sitting position. He arranged his robes to avoid any indecency.

"He's not so bad—when he's not hacking up hairballs, that is."

"So…" Anders began in a gossipy schoolgirl tone of voice, "What do you make of our friend? Cool… or _creepy_?"

His gaze indicated the solitary figure sitting nearby, one hand pressed against the breastplate of the armor, tracing the lines as though from memory.

"I'm trying to reserve judgment until I've seen more."

Anders chuckled devilishly.

"How very politic of you. Oghren's already taking bets on how long it is before he dissolves into a pile of ash. He says it'll be before we hit the road again, but me… I give it two weeks. Maybe more if you embalm him first. Which reminds me, did we bring any spare formaldehyde?"

"Very funny."

"I try," he replied with a satisfactory smirk. "In all seriousness, though… I came over here to tell you that Oghren's been agitated about something. He's muttering to himself—well, more than usual, that is—and cursing in excess."

"Are you sure that's not just him being Oghren?"

"No, it's different this time. I think it may have something to do with Felsi and the baby."

"I'll have a chat with him when the time is right. I don't want to bring it up if he's not comfortable talking about it with me, though."

"Your call, Commander."

Anders reached forward and scratched the soft spot behind Ser Pounce-a-lot's ears. Even while sleeping, the cat mewled plaintively in response. They sat talking for a few more hours until it was time for them to again change shifts. Anders replaced Nathaniel at his post by the crooked tree, his mage's staff slung over one shoulder.

It was the first chance she and Nathaniel had to talk since the events of the Fade, and she was fully expecting to face censure from him about their newest recruit. As expected, he did not disappoint. He walked over with a bold, confident stride and crouched beside her, huddled close.

"You really think it wise to bring along a Fade spirit on our travels? Think of the dangers, the implications. We could be setting a dangerous precedent, Warden-Commander."

It was the first time he had addressed her by her formal title, and Aeryn had to wonder what had changed for him to be finally showing her some respect instead of the usual insubordination she had come to expect from him. Ever since their meeting with Delilah, Nathaniel had seemed much quieter, more reflective.

"I understand your concern, Nathaniel, but as your commander you must trust me. I know what I'm doing. And besides, we don't have much of a choice. We can't leave him trapped and helpless in that body. That's inhumane."

He appeared to consider her words for a moment before replying.

"Well, then I will respect your decision, Commander… Though I may not agree with it."

Of course he had to throw that final jab in. That little flourish was so distinctly Nathaniel that she would have almost been disappointed if he hadn't done it.

She half-expected him to get up and go restring his weapon, but he remained seated beside her. He curled his knees up to his chest and draped his arms across them casually.

"They say the marsh is haunted, though I'm not sure I believe it. I think that, to those who don't understand the Fade, that's probably a sufficient enough explanation for all the unusual things that happen here."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think it was haunted too. Even the trees seem to have it out for us," Aeryn said with a chill.

"I know what you mean. It is… unsettling."

The campfire crackled and cast leaping shadows into the darkness, embers tumbling their sparkling blessings out onto the ground beneath their feet. It was silent for miles, a silence exacerbated by their apparent reluctance to keep speaking. At last—Maker be praised!—Nathaniel continued.

"That… woman we saw in town. Was she a traveling companion of yours?"

"You mean Wynne? She was more like a mother to me. I mean, after my own mother…" _Awkward_. "…Yes, she was a companion of mine."

"I thought as much. She seemed a nice sort of lady."

Coming from him, that was practically a declaration of love. Aeryn had to work very hard not to laugh at his awkwardness in knowing how to pay a compliment where one was due. He was slowly making strides; she had to give him that.

"This… _Zevran_… she spoke of. Was he a friend of yours? A lover?"

The question caught her off-guard, and it must have shown. How was she supposed to answer that when the mere mention of the elf's name was enough to reduce her to a puddle of tears?

"He was both. And now is neither." She paused. "He was the man hired by your father to kill me. We were led into an ambush by him on the Long Road. We were lucky to have escaped with our lives."

"My father hired an assassin to kill you?"

"Under Teyrn Loghain's orders. Zev made a bid for the contract when no one else would. Fortunately for me, I was a rather difficult mark."

"Now that I believe. Although I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that you and he…"

"That we _what_?"

Nathaniel sensed how peeved she was, so instead of following that train of thought, he began anew.

"Every day I'm learning so many things about my father that I never knew. Perhaps it would have been better for me to stay in the Free Marches than to return home."

"How can you say that? You were reunited with your sister. Surely that's worth the heartache."

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

"You really should get some sleep. We're going to have to return to Seneschal Varel in the morning with news of Kristoff. The journey will be easier if you're well rested and in top form. Speaking of which, how is your shoulder?"

"It pains me, but I'll live," he said with a light-hearted grimace. "I've been changing the dressings once daily for the past two days."

"That's not enough for it to heal quickly. Here, let me see."

At first he looked as though he was going to protest, then he willfully submitted to her ministrations. She helped him with the latches on his leather armor, relieving him of his breastplate in two swift motions. Once it was placed carefully on the ground, she inspected the wound. A scar had already begun to form where she had sliced him, and it had taken on a swollen purple appearance. Nathaniel looked embarrassed as she touched him. His shoulders were knotted and tense, far removed from his lax, easy posture only a few moments before.

"Do you have some more dressings in your pack?"

Wordlessly, his swift hands moved to the leather satchel that hung from his belt, drawing out the medicated bandages. Their hands touched for a brief moment as he turned over the provisions to her, their faces mere inches from each other. This close, she could feel his slow and steady breath on her face. Unwavering, he gazed at her without breaking eye contact.

Aeryn was the first to look away, feeling weak for having done so.

Her hands shook as she took the dressings and began applying them. She hoped to the Maker he had not taken notice of this, or if he had, he at least had the courtesy not to mention it and embarrass her.

When she finished, she announced, "There. That should do it."

"Thank you."

She watched from behind as his broad shoulders shrugged on the breastplate, the fingers working the laces with expert precision, nimbly sweeping in and out, back and forth.

"Warden-Commander," he said in acknowledgment as he excused himself from her presence, stood, and walked away. It sounded far too formal and stilted on his tongue; just once she longed to hear him call her by her proper title, "my lady." It was a title she felt more at ease with, one that didn't fill her head with any delusions of grandeur. She was a Cousland, a woman of comfortable yet modest means, not some figurehead of human resistance.

She rolled over on her side and tried for sleep, but it did not come easy. Her dreams were fragmented recalls of the evening that had just passed, marked with chaos and confusion. She tossed and turned restlessly until the campfire had almost burned itself out somewhere near sunrise.


	9. Chapter 9

IX.

Her thoughts raced around in her head. Confusing thoughts. Her head was a spinning carousel of disjointed images with seemingly no meaning. Always, the images involved Zevran in some form or another. Last night, he had played the role of treacherous assassin pitted against her in a life-or-death battle; it was a far cry from the only other dream she'd ever had of him. She wondered if these dreams were yet more predictions given to her by the Darkspawn blood that coursed through her veins, or if perhaps they were just the product of an overactive imagination.

Either way, it didn't matter. She couldn't have her dreams affecting her performance during waking hours. She did her best to put the thought from her mind and went about her business.

On the surface she appeared calm, a façade she helped propagate by tending to the menial duties in the camp—extinguishing what was left of the campfire, washing their cookware in the nearby marsh, and packing up the wares. Inside, however, she was still shaken by how _real_ the dream had been. She could still taste the blood on his fingertips as he had clamped both hands over her mouth, and it chilled her to the bone. She tried to console herself by saying that was _not_ him, it was a fiction her mind had forged in the throes of a deep sleep.

That thought gave her scant comfort.

Once her tasks were complete, she sat down to finish dressing and lacing up her boots. She did not relish the thought of the journey ahead, but she was looking forward to being home again. If Vigil's Keep could really be considered "home." She had not set foot in Castle Highever since the atrocities of that fateful night, and part of her was happy to have left the last vestiges of her old life behind. But the other part—the nostalgic one—longed for her mother's leek and onion soup, her father's bedtime stories, and the warmth of Cheldar, her Mabari war hound, on her feet at night.

It was not long before they were packed up and on their way, trudging up the mottled path with their unwieldy weapons in tow. Cheerful conversation was the order of the day; as they fell into step with one another, Oghren and Anders chatted amicably about a wide range of things that had Aeryn mostly rolling her eyes.

On the road to Vigil's Keep at mid-day, they were ambushed by the same breed of sapient Darkspawn they had encountered in the Fade. The leader, a meaty fellow with a skull for a face and two beady red eyes, announced himself as a disciple of the mysterious Architect—whoever that was—and claimed to have come bearing a message. Once he had their attention, he turned to face the horde of monsters standing behind him.

"The Warden-Commander has come, just as he foretold."

A chorus of spine-tingling squeals—that could only have constituted cheering in "Darkspawn-speak"—pierced their ears at his declaration.

Aeryn looked pleadingly at her companions for guidance. They seemed just as perplexed as she, not knowing quite how to respond to this new threat. So she did the best thing she could think of and drew both swords, crossing them before her in an arc as she approached with caution.

"Just as who foretold? You mean this Architect of yours? Is he the reason you can speak?"

Ignoring her, the disciple continued. "He has commanded me to bring you a warning, Commander of the Grey. Beware the Mother. Her eyes are upon your every move, even now as you fight to escape her darkness. Such darkness cannot be extinguished."

"Tell me more about your leader. I want to know the reasons behind the recent spate of attacks."

"In time he will reveal himself to you," the disciple said indignantly. "Your patience will be rewarded."

"That's not good enough. I want to see him _now_."

Having grown tired of her demands, the disciple gave a final glare and stormed off, the horde of Darkspawn amazingly following behind without so much as lifting a finger to attack them. As they simply walked off, their armor rattling in time with their slow, marching steps, Aeryn stood there, slack-jawed.

"Um… _perhaps_, Commander, engaging it in discussion was not the cleverest of ideas," Anders said at length. "Who knows what that thing will do now?"

"Much as I hate to say it, the mage is right," Oghren growled. "Don't trust anything that can't sodding well be killed before talking your ear off!"

"Justice?" Aeryn queried the stoic man.

"I could sense that this disciple was different from the First we encountered in the Fade. Loyal, somehow. I don't know what his connection to the Architect is, but I do know that he is too dangerous to be trusted."

"I agree," Nathaniel said quietly. "Doesn't it seem a little too convenient they should ambush us on our way to Vigil's Keep? What if, as we've been standing here speaking, the Keep has already fallen and it's just a ploy to ensnare us, to get us to go back there?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take. I trust Seneschal Varel to not let that happen in my absence."

They continued the rest of the way down the road, arriving at Vigil's Keep sometime before dark. The gates of the city stood open as usual, and there was no indication that anything was amiss. On their approach, one of the heralds sounded their arrival. Seneschal Varel was there to greet them at the foot of the giant granite steps, looking pleased though perturbed at their having found Kristoff—in a manner of speaking.

Varel and his men led them into the hall, where fire burned the chill from their bones. It felt good to be back and in the warmth of the fortress once again.

"On the road we were apprehended by one of the Darkspawn," Aeryn narrated as they fell into step with one another, removing her gauntlets to warm her hands by the fire. "He spoke of an Architect and a Mother of some kind. Do those names mean anything to you?"

"They do not, but you might want to ask Captain Garevel about it. His men report to him on any unusual findings they might come across. And this would certainly constitute unusual, Warden-Commander."

"I'll do that, but first, I'd like a hot bath and some supper."

"You've more than earned it, Commander. I'll have the stewards prepare a meal for the lot of you."

They bowed to one another, arms criss-crossed over their chests in a show of deep respect. As she turned to exit the room and seek out her quarters for the night, Varel's gentle voice halted her in her steps.

"And Commander? I must… thank you for solving the mystery of Kristoff's disappearance. His wife wants closure, and hopefully this will bring her some peace of mind."

She again nodded and then was gone.

* * *

Aeryn breathed in the invigorating steam, letting it clear her foggy mind as her head relaxed against the edge of the wooden tub. Varel had sent up his personal staff to wait on her, a team of six pretty young maids in matching blue frocks, and they had drawn her a bath. It had taken all six of them to fill the tub with water by the bucketful. Once the Grey Warden had shed her cumbersome armor onto the floor and eased into the water, letting it lap serenely at the edges of her face, she felt as though she was in heaven.

As she soaked up the water, one of the servants returned to drizzle in some aromatic oils. They wafted through the air—a tempting blend of jasmine, rose, and violet hints—before settling in her sinuses. She took deep pulls of the scent.

She was so relaxed that she hadn't even realized the maid was still standing there at attention, both hands crossed before her as penance for the intrusion.

"I hope you don't mind, my lady," the skittish little creature said, "But I took the liberty of laying out an ensemble for you."

"Maker's mercy! Always the last to know, I tell you. What's the occasion?"

"Seneschal Varel has commanded a small feast be prepared in your honor. He hopes to attend himself. He says there are matters of business he must speak to you about."

"There always are," she said with a sigh, sinking slightly below water level so all that remained afloat was half of her head. She blew bubbles from her nose and then re-emerged, looking refreshed. "Thank you. That will be all."

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but do you need help to get into your gown?"

Heedless of her nakedness, she rose and exited the tub, pulling on a robe.

"You're right, I do. Now where is it?"

"On the bed, my lady."

As her gaze settled on the dress, she felt her breath momentarily escape her. It had been lain with such care on the foot of the bed, just beneath the portrait of Rendon Howe. Even he seemed to sneer down at the opulence of it. With its detailed neckline and unabashedly crimson hue, it was a marvel to behold. Aeryn could hardly believe she was going to be wearing it, much less even touching it. Her hands still felt too dirty to handle such expensive fabrics.

"Oh, my."

"It belonged to the late mistress of Amaranthine. But it is yours now. The Seneschal insisted."

"I'm not so sure it's his to give," she said, running a hand over the delicate topstitching on the front. It was far simpler than the gown Nathaniel's mother had been wearing in the portrait mounted in the hallway, but it was also more beautiful in its simplicity. Any more embellishments and it would have been too overwhelming.

"Go ahead and try it on at least," the girl prodded.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

She gingerly slithered into the dress, careful not to disturb it too much because of its age. As the maid tied the lacings on the bodice, pulling them perhaps a little too taut to showcase her tiny waist, Aeryn drew a deep breath and then walked to the mirror to survey her reflection. The image that greeted her was pleasing; her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in wild black waves, complementing the deep jewel-toned hue of the gown. It hugged her curves in all the right places, teasing, yet still leaving enough to the imagination.

She felt like a Cousland again.

She could almost get used to this.

"You look lovely," the maid sputtered excitedly, pursing her lips. "You must wear it!"

"Oh, I don't know…"

"You must! _She_ won't be using it anytime soon."

"I suppose not."

She turned from side to side, surveying her profile as she patted down the soft bulge of her stomach. It _did_ feel nice to be in such fine and feminine clothes again, especially after spending most of the last six months cavorting around the countryside in armor that had seen better days.

"All right, you've convinced me."

Like a placated seal, the maid clapped effusively.

* * *

The dining hall was filled to capacity that night when Aeryn entered from a side door. The buzz of happy chatter assaulted her ears almost instantly, and her eyes settled on the impressive smorgasbord of food that had been served by the Keep's cook. It was good to see an atmosphere of general merriment and good cheer prevail even in times of trouble.

At her entrance, all eyes turned to her. Her long walk to the table was made all the more awkward by the painfully small pair of shoes the maid had found for her to wear. Without thinking, Aeryn had shoved her feet into the little glittery torture devices—and now she was regretting it. She moved ungracefully toward the table, where she landed with a plop almost in Oghren's lap.

"Well, hello, sugar lips," the dwarf said lecherously, his trademark cackle sending her back a few feet. This was closer than she ever cared to get to him. "Aren't you looking tasty!"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Go right ahead. And if you happen to need any more complimenting later on…"

"Oghren, please," she warned. "Very hungry woman with a very sharp knife here."

"Heh... _point_ taken."

Seneschal Varel sat directly adjacent to her, Captain Garevel to his left while Mistress Woolsey occupied the seat to his right. He acknowledged her with a nod in her direction.

"You look splendid, Commander. I knew you would enjoy my gift."

In fact, just about the only one who didn't seem to be enjoying his gift was Nathaniel. He sat with a cold, calculating look at the end of the table, surrounded by drunken degenerates who were passing the time by singing loud songs in badly out of tune voices. His eyes focused on his plate, and then on her, and then back on his plate. Was he displeased with her for salvaging his mother's dress from among her articles? Perhaps it was too long ago for him to have remembered.

Dinner was uneventful and full of discussion. Captain Garevel proved a very talkative man, though she suspected it had something to do with the dress. He had never taken notice of her before. She tolerated his company with patient endurance, knowing she would need his help with questions later on, when he was not quite so drunk.

Within an hour the dining hall had totally transformed into the spitting image of the Gnawed Noble Tavern, rowdiness overtaking it. She had abstained from wine for much of the evening, so she was probably one of the only remaining clear-headed people. When it grew apparent that Varel was too caught up in the merriment to have remembered their business, she excused herself from her seat at the table and walked over to the fire, where Nathaniel sat alone taking his wine, and taking a good deal of it—as expected.

Neither one said anything for several minutes, their silent stares speaking volumes about the tension that was still between them.

At last, he spoke softly.

"My lady Cousland."

Her blubbering mouth overtook her, and before she knew it she found herself yammering away at lightning speed.

"I hope you aren't cross with me for wearing your mother's gown. The maid brought it to me and I thought… well, someone ought to get some use out of it. It's too beautiful to go unworn."

She stared at him with wide eyes, fully expecting the worst. What he said next surprised her.

"That dress becomes you. More than it did her."

Her hand settled coquettishly on the deep neckline of the dress, drawing attention to both the topstitching and her ample cleavage. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this bare in public. It was liberating, somehow.

"Thank you. _Flatterer_."

He continued sipping from his tankard, his eyes returning pensively to the flames of the fire.

"So tell me what occupies your thoughts, that you'd choose to isolate yourself instead of joining in on the revelry?"

"A great many things."

"Could you be any more vague?"

"I don't know… would you like me to?"

She giggled, feeling more free and uninhibited than usual.

"You do so enjoy torturing me. I don't know why."

"I would never torture such a lovely woman as yourself."

The manner in which the words were said left much room for interpretation. Either he was being incredibly tongue-in-cheek or he actually meant what he said. Intrigued, she delved deeper.

"'Lovely,' you say? Then it's true what they claim about wine loosening the tongue."

"It can't be the first time someone's said you're pretty," he said between drinks. "Even Thomas would wax poetic about you when we were younger. I was surprised this time he was actually telling the truth, though. Usually his obsessions were too strong to allow rational thought. That was Thomas for you."

"I remember," she said, gazing wistfully into the fire. "He always wanted to see the good in everybody."

"It was because he was almost always drunk and happy. When he wasn't drunk, he was quite a miserable lout. And when he _was_… well, let's just say shoes were a favorite target of his when he had to take a piss."

She stifled a giggle, but Nathaniel's utter seriousness only made it worse.

"Oh, Nate."

As she said his name, her hand covered his, and she could feel the slight tensing of his muscles, the snag in his breath that betrayed his surprise. She suddenly regretted touching him at all, but for some reason she couldn't find the strength to remove her hand. He looked extremely offended. No cup of ale could ever put such a flame in his cheeks nor such a fire in his eyes. She had to give herself credit; she had a talent for irritating him.

"I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

She rose to leave, feeling quite foolish, but before she could go, his hand caught hers and spun her around to face him, their eyes locking meaningfully. For a few moments they held the gaze, and then he released her, returning to his tankard as though nothing had happened.

Dizzied by the contact, Aeryn excused herself from the hall and stumbled to her room, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She pulled off the dress and slipped into a thin chemise, brushing her hair out over her shoulders. She sat gazing at her reflection in the mirror for a long while.

The feeling of his eyes upon her had been intoxicating. Her heart was torn by the memory of that pale, arrogant face and her own inability to walk the fine line between wanting to slap him and embrace him, to take away some of the pain he was feeling. She gazed forlornly up at the unimpressed portrait before her.

"What have you done to him to make him like this?"

Rendon Howe said nothing, only stared back.


	10. Chapter 10

X.

Aeryn lay awake, hands latticed behind her head, staring at the canopy above her. Despite the fact she had not drunk too much ale, her head was aching fit to burst. It helped to just stare at one spot without moving around too much.

As she lay there, her thoughts kept returning to that one night at camp. She thought it had changed everything… but she had been wrong.

_The Antivan assassin crouched beside her, his profile sharp and well-cut against the campfire. Her heart always fluttered a little whenever he was in close proximity to her._

"_Here… it seems an appropriate moment to give you this…"_

_From his pocket he produced an earring with a beautiful luster. With an "ooh" of surprise, she scooped it up in her palms and began examining every inch of it.  
_

"_I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows. A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single jeweled earring when I killed him." The easily decipherable smirk on his face informed her that his thoughts were again tending toward the dirty, __as expected__. "In fact, that's about __all__ he was wearing."_

"_So will this mean we're married in Antiva?"_

"_Not… unless you wish it," he had replied, his voice breathy with anticipation. His eagerness to cement their relationship surprised her. She hadn't expected any kind of commitment from him, not while he remained loyal to the Crows._

"_I do, Zev," she had found herself saying against her better judgment._

Onto her index finger it had gone—partly because it was too big to wear anywhere else, and partly because she wanted to sidestep the inevitable questions that would arise should it be glimpsed on her all-important ring finger. The sparkling gold trinket brought her good luck during battles, and none of her companions ever thought to ask about it, which meant her little secret had been safe for the time being.

Her fingers twirled the sparkling gold hoop absently. Why should she continue to wear it when it was obvious the giver had no intention of making good on his promise? She was a fool to still hope and pray for a happy reunion. Zevran was not coming back.

Just as she was about to slip it off her finger, a sharp rap on the door interrupted her. She stood up and went to answer it, throwing a robe on to cover up her nightshift. The maid on the other end of the door delivered the message that Seneschal Varel was awaiting her in the throne room to speak of an urgent matter of business.

When she arrived, her companions were already there. Oghren stood in his usual position by the great cask of ale, Anders cradling Ser Pounce-a-lot somewhere nearby, while Justice surveyed the impressive tomes lining the shelves behind him and Nathaniel kept a wary eye on his mother's portrait.

Without saying hello to them, she strode confidently over to where Seneschal Varel awaited her.

"Good morning, Seneschal."

"Ah, Warden-Commander! You must forgive me… the night's festivities took a lot out of me. I had to retire to bed early, otherwise we would have had this discussion last night."

"No need for apologies. Now, then. What is it?"

There fell a brief silence.

"I have some things I need you to take care of, Commander. They require your immediate attention."

"What things?"

"We've received reports from some of the militia that the Darkspawn are disrupting trade routes in the Wending Wood. If you could go there in time to put a stop to the raids, that would be another minor victory for Ferelden. And there is also the matter of Kal'Hirol…"

"You mean _the_ Kal'Hirol?"

She had heard tell of the legendary dwarven fortress from her father, who loved to spin magnificent yarns about the mysterious kingdom. To think that she would actually be going there…

"Yes, Commander. The captain's men say they have sighted Darkspawn in the nearby Knotwood Hills, and they feel as though it is somehow connected to the fortress. Exactly how, we're not sure. That's what we'd like you to find out."

The assignments seemed easy enough, and she was more than willing to volunteer her help, but Varel apparently hadn't finished speaking.

"And then there are matters of a more—_political _nature—that you must attend here at the Keep."

"Such as?"

"Petitions for justice. Most of the cases can be decided quite easily. Land disputes, personal rivalries, the occasional capital offense… that sort of thing."

_My favorite part of the job_, she thought with mock enthusiasm.

The proceedings were long and boring, and though she struggled to make decisions that benefited everybody, in the end it just wasn't possible. Several of the vassals stormed out of the hall due to her rulings. One woman—a Bann Esmerelle—roundly rebuked her for her apparent inexperience in deciding matters of grave importance. She got the sense the woman was just peeved at having been placed under the rule of the Grey Warden who had slaughtered their last leader. There seemed to be a growing sense of unrest among the vassals—never a good sign. In a show of goodwill, she invited them to stay for a fortnight at the Keep while she went to Knotwood Hills, hoping this would somehow bring them around.

_Maker_, how the day-to-day affairs of a kingdom could be such a headache! That was one thing she didn't miss about King Alistair's court.

After concluding her business with the nobles, she went to speak to Captain Garevel about their encounter with the talking Darkspawn the day before, but the captain was as clueless about the Architect and the Mother as Varel appeared to be. At least the endeavor hadn't been entirely fruitless, however; Garevel did apologize for his "forward" behavior last night and begged her forgiveness—a little personal victory she relished seeing as how his blatant overtures had disturbed her.

Aeryn quietly took inventory of her belongings, selling some of the salvage she had picked up during their journey to the Blackmarsh. The items fetched a decent sum and also lightened her load considerably. Satisfied that she was no longer burdened to capacity, she slung her pack over her shoulder and walked over to where Justice stood. He appeared to be contemplating Kristoff's personal effects that she had given him in camp.

"There is much history here," he said as he inspected the locket, its gold chain dangling in ribbons around his fingers. "And many happy memories. This locket bears an engraving from the one who was wedded to him. I can feel his joy at having received it as though the memory were my own. It is… hard to describe. This body is like a prison that binds me to another time… another being."

"I'm sorry. I promise to find a way to free you," Aeryn said, voice betraying her uncertainty. "Even if it takes a while."

"Until then, I must rectify this somehow. What else am I if not a seeker of justice?"

She smiled sadly.

"What will you do?"

"I will go to this woman, this… _Aura_… yes, that's her name. I will set things aright. If that is all right with you, Commander."

"Yes, of course."

"Thank you. It gives me peace to know that the justice I dispense will not soon be forgotten. This woman is an important link in his life."

Aeryn couldn't argue the fact that he needed a purpose, something driving him to excellence both on and off the battlefield. His utter devotion to Kristoff's cause touched her in some deep corner of her heart. He was so determined to mete out retribution to those responsible for his death that he hadn't realized the extent of his own investment in the matter. Emotions previously foreign to him had completely overridden his brain, and some small part of him must have coveted them for himself. She couldn't help but feel sad at that thought.

After gathering the rest of her companions together, they ventured from the Keep and toward the long road to the Knotwood Hills. She knew not what awaited them there, but she was certain of one thing: it was good to be on the road again.


	11. Chapter 11

XI.

They traversed slightly south along the forested slopes of the Wending Wood, following the trade route known as the Pilgrim's Path. The jungled hillsides were both brimming with dense vegetation and diverse wildlife, and peppered with scenic waterfalls and deep gorges. The path moved regularly and solidly, and though their progress was several times halted by an obstruction—a fallen tree here, an impassable creek there—they managed to make good time on their journey.

Aeryn felt as though the trees knew of her presence and were watching her, the very flowers and shrubs turning to watch her pass. The Dalish believed the forest held a sacred bond to those who dwelled within it, and she could feel the power they spoke of every step of the way.

The wind carried with it the putrid smell of rotted flesh. Soon they slowed to a weary plod, happening upon a pit of decomposing corpses that appeared to have been picked apart by wild animals. Their clothes were torn and tattered, their limbs all askew. A few severed heads decorated the pikes protruding from the ground, a grim reminder of the dangers that faced travelers in Darkspawn-occupied territories. Finding the threat would be easy… Just follow the trail of corpses where it led. Eliminating it, however, would be a little harder. She was already feeling weary just thinking about it.

On their way out of the pit, Aeryn's boot struck something solid and metallic. As she stooped down to see a pendant laying there half-buried in the dirt, her pale blue-green eyes narrowed. She quickly pocketed it in her satchel.

Sometime after noon, they came to a long bridge where an angry elven woman garbed in revealing attire was animating the trees around them. Wild sylvan after wild sylvan came to life at her touch, making a grab for the four companions as they scattered about. Aeryn drew her dual blades, hacking and slashing her way to an easy victory. As soon as the last of the sylvans had been defeated and the elven woman fled across the bridge, Oghren cursed loudly.

"Darkspawn, feral wolves, and now sodding _trees_ too? _Trees_? What's next, giant, flesh-eating bunnies? A horde of rabid virgins? Eh… that… last one actually doesn't sound _so_ bad."

"For someone who's used to seeing his share of _golems_, you certainly are perplexed by the simplest of things," Anders said.

"May be simple for you, mage, but where I come from… trees are just trees. Nothing bloody wise or magical about them."

"We should follow her," Aeryn suggested.

"Um, reality check, if I might be so bold," Anders interjected. His blonde hair stuck up in jagged directions, probably from the sheer amount of time he spent scratching it. "Following a pissed off mage into a heavily guarded area with nothing but our courage to guide us? Never a good idea. Take it from me."

"As much as it pains me to say, Anders is right," Nathaniel agreed. "We should exercise caution here. There's no telling what she'll do once we're in _her_ forest."

"I sure'd _like_ to be in her forest," Oghren remarked lecherously. "If you know what I mean."

"Do you spend all day concocting witty retorts, dwarf, or do they just come naturally?" Anders replied with exasperation.

"It's a gift, mage. I like to spread the wealth."

"I feared as much."

They headed for the rickety bridge. With all four of them walking across it at the same time, the structure seemed barely able to support the weight. It creaked and swayed and groaned with the effort. Once they had safely crossed, they happened upon an abandoned Dalish campsite situated atop a nearby mountain. That was where they confronted and recruited her to their party—though not without a fight.

Velanna, the elf, leveled shot after searing shot of pure arcane energy in their direction, growing frustrated with their reluctance to die. Justice swung the full weight of his two-handed broadsword around majestically while attempting to deflect the carefully timed shots. Unaffected as he was by her magic, he proved to be an invaluable first line of defense, walking right up to her before cuffing her over the head with the hilt of his sword—though not before asking forgiveness for his actions.

The mage, robbed of her power for the moment being, eventually came to. Four heads stared down at her from where she lay. Petrified, she shot to her feet, almost knocking them all out in the process.

"Stay back! Or I swear to Elgar'nan I shall take my vengeance!"

"Stand down," Aeryn commanded with the assurance of a born leader. "You're outnumbered."

"I will never submit to you, _shem_! I will die first!"

"I don't wish to kill you, but I will if I must."

"As you killed my friends and kidnapped my sister?"

"What?" The momentary silence was punctuated by the crisp sound of falling water from the nearby cascades. "No… no, of course not."

"Don't lie to me. Do you take me for a fool?"

"No. I was sent here to quell a Darkspawn uprising. It was interfering with the trade routes. Or was that you too?"

"I had nothing to do with your precious trade routes. When my sister went missing, I killed everyone I could get my hands on."

"I guess that'd explain why the merchants never made it here and back alive," Aeryn whispered in an undertone to Nathaniel, who stood at her shoulder. The grisly memory of the pit of corpses was still fresh in her mind—no doubt a product of Velanna's rage-fueled handiwork.

"Well, what if we cut a deal? We could use a person of your skills on our team. If we find your sister, you help us fight against Darkspawn. If we don't… you can leave free and clear, no questions asked."

A snort of derision trickled from the diminutive blonde elf's lips.

"You shemlen are a pathetic race. Always trying to broker deals you think will profit you."

"Let me put it this way," Aeryn answered. "How long have you been searching for her?"

"If you must know, almost a week."

Aeryn fished in her satchel for the pendant, flattening her palm to present it to the tanned elf.

"Does this look at all familiar?"

Velanna rushed forward with a cry of outrage, swiping the pendant from her.

"_Seranni_! Where did you find this?!"

"To the northwest. I'm guessing whoever took your sister went that way."

With a groan, Velanna said, "All right, you can come. If the agreement still stands."

"It does."

"Then… return my sister to me and you shall have my loyalty."

The Dalish camp was full of salvage. As Nathaniel expertly picked the locks on all the crates, Oghren looted the other treasures scattered about—a small silver bowl, a pricey-looking vase, and a few other antiquey items. Aeryn searched for and found a small cache of weapons and explosives, among them a well-crafted bow, a flask of corrosive acid, and two short Crow daggers. Although her pack seemed far too small to fit everything, somehow she made do.

They decided to spend the night there as the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon. Since a pair of canvas tents had already been erected, there was no need to exhaust their own resources. The camp was located in a tactical position, giving them a clear view of the surrounding environs and any approaching enemies. The night was surprisingly quiet, with only a few disruptions every few hours from hungry animals seeking to plunder their rations. Anders was having a heck of a time trying to guard the portions while Ser Pounce-a-lot patiently stood guard beside him. He used the folds of his blue-gold mage robes to flap wildly at any uninvited guests, a sight so comical that Aeryn almost didn't want to retire to bed.

Eventually, sleep called to her, and she stalked into the tent she shared with Velanna, curling against the far end as much as physically possible so as to avoid contact with the elven woman. Part of her feared the woman would attempt to murder her in her sleep—so full of rage was she—but sharing a tent with her was preferable to joining the pileup that was the men's tent. She couldn't imagine it being very comfortable with four bodies all squeezed into one little abode.

Sometime before dawn, she got up and threw off the covers, pulling on a simple tunic and skirt, her hair in long, loose waves around her shoulders. Velanna was sound asleep—or so her fitful snoring would suggest—and would not be waking anytime soon.

She crept out of camp, using the dewy grass to soften her footfall. On her back was strapped the bow; she intended to inspect it a little more for clues. Following the steep path downward to a tiny ridge of land flanked by a majestic crystal blue waterfall, she sunk to her knees and began to watch the sun rise.

It would have been much nicer if she'd had someone to share it with.

She unslung the bow from her shoulder and balanced it in her hands. Both lower and upper limbs curved in a pleasing shape and were covered with a wrapping of sinew while the padded grip was comfortable and well-contoured. Just visible beside the arrow rest were two royal insignias.

Aeryn _knew_ that mark. She had seen it elsewhere…

With a gasp, she recalled that the symbol belonged to the house of Howe, the ancient and noble lineage from which Nathaniel was descended. Turning the bow delicately over in her hands, she examined it more closely. Her search produced no additional clues, only that the bow had once belonged to one of Nathaniel's ancestors. Who exactly, it was difficult to say.

She smiled as she slipped her arm through the bow, letting it ride the rest of the way back to camp on her shoulder. A surprise would be awaiting him when he awoke.


	12. Chapter 12

XII.

A scream pierced the still morning air.

Spurred on by the noise, Aeryn sprinted back toward the blazing tents of the camp. The white-hot fire rippled down and enveloped the entire settlement with the speed of a galloping horse. Even the trees were ablaze with red flames leaping high into a sky polluted with dense black smoke. Throwing an arm over her nose, she ran headlong into the camp.

As she moved blindly through the smoke, her vision soon cleared. A horde of Darkspawn had the camp surrounded, and Nathaniel was picking them off one by one with his bow and arrow while Anders attempted to hit them long-range with bolts from his staff. Velanna and Justice seemed to be faring much worse, overwhelmed as they were on all sides by a constant slew of enemies. Oghren's massive ax swung about in frenetic circles, decimating everything in its path.

She had arrived just in the nick of time.

Charging headlong into the smoldering remains of her tent, she unsheathed her two swords and immediately sprung into action. The blades twirled gracefully around in a flurry of frantic strikes, finding purchase within the heart of a nearby enemy. As she knocked her boot against his chest to yank the blades free of his massive weight, she was grabbed from behind. The world around her momentarily went black as her head bobbed back and forth like a limp, lifeless plaything. For a moment she was certain she was going to collapse from exhaustion. Gaining her second wind, she swiftly spun about to decapitate her attacker. The grotesque head tumbled away into a nearby ditch, where it landed with a careless thud.

Nearby, Velanna had been knocked off her feet by an angry Hurlock. Her legs and arms dangled uselessly at her sides as she lay there, her head infused with pain. Just as the creature raised its arms, preparing to crush her skull, Nathaniel slammed into it at full speed, toppling it backwards just a little bit. This was just the advantage he needed to take back control. Velanna's sloe eyes widened as she watched the rogue grapple with his opponent, enduring a sound kick to the middle.

"Now!" he bit out.

Velanna conjured up a glowing patch of mist that moved at her bidding. Using both hands, she flung the mist at the Hurlock, striking it in the shoulder, giving Nathaniel enough time to draw an arrow from his quiver and take aim.

The Hurlock slumped to its knees, instantly felled by the blow.

With a nod, Velanna acknowledged him. He returned the nod—an action that hadn't gone unnoticed by Aeryn, even as she swung wildly at another of their attackers. A momentary pang of jealousy washed over her, but she didn't understand why.

Within minutes, the rest of her companions had the battle under control. Justice heaved the one remaining Hurlock off its feet, tightening his stranglehold around its neck while its legs flailed wildly. He cast the creature aside as though it were no more than a pebble and looked to Aeryn.

"We must move immediately. We are no longer safe here. They will return, and in greater numbers."

"You heard the man. Salvage what you can. We're packing up and moving out."

Glowing embers lodged around the still-smoking structures once the flames had passed. Most of their gear had been destroyed by the fire. What _was_ left was in dire shape. Aeryn knelt by the useless pile of ash, trying to pick through it for items worth saving.

They were on the road again within the hour, walking in companionable silence for some way. Aeryn set such a grueling pace that her companions were barely able to keep up with the demand. She was determined to find Velanna's sister and get the hell out of this cursed forest. The thought of getting a good night's sleep at her quarters in Vigil's Keep was too tempting to resist. The sooner they finished their quest, the sooner it became a reality.

Sometime around noon they stopped to rest when Oghren complained of feeling physically ill due to hunger. In a small forest clearing on the banks of the river, they stopped for lunch. A small portion of food remained, but Oghren elected to go hunt for some more with Anders. After they had gone, Velanna sat down on a tree stump and began chafing her hands and feet. She had received only superficial injuries, but she still seemed shaken by the encounter.

"Are you all right, my lady?" Nathaniel said solicitously, getting down to eye level with her. There was concern etched onto his features which Aeryn had never before seen. "If there is anything you need, you have but to ask."

"I am quite well, _shem_," Velanna said sharply, though her tone had taken on the playful cadence of a child's.

"Your _tone_ suggests you do not care for my presence," he observed with mock upset.

"Figured that out all by yourself, did you?"

"I'm used to it."

"Surely I can't understand why. Such a _charming_ human as yourself must sweep every woman he meets off her feet."

"And such a lovely woman as you must inspire the heart of every bard to song, my lady," he gritted out. A devious smile played on her lips.

"'_My lady'_ is such a human thing to call someone."

"Are you trying to pick a fight? Baiting me like this is juvenile."

Her eyes lit up.

"Just trying to test your limits, _shem_. I'm impressed. I may have misjudged you a little."

"So we are to be friends?"

"Indeed… we are," Velanna answered.

"The thought _warms_ me," he teased.

They were starting to look a little too cozy to Aeryn. Resolving to put a stop to their outlandish flirting, she stepped by Nathaniel and shoved a bowl of grey-colored mush into his hands.

"Here, eat. You'll need your strength when we begin walking again."

"Thank you."

"Here."

She shoved a second bowl at Velanna, who was glaring icy daggers at her. When their gazes met, a glance of mutual understanding passed between them. Aeryn was not at all happy the elf was infringing on her "territory," and Velanna was more than determined to try and have him. Well, they could agree to disagree then.

Oghren and Anders returned just in time to see Aeryn go storming off into the woods, exchanging looks of puzzlement. She shoved past the underbrush and toward a little clearing beside a crisp blue waterfall. She sat down and unslung the bow she was saving for Nathaniel from her shoulder. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to toss it into the river and watch the current carry it away.

The rustling of the bushes alerted her to the sound of another presence behind her. Emerging through the trees came Nathaniel, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he stepped over a branch and into the small clearing. She immediately stood up from her position and took a steadying step backward.

"Commander… you just stormed off without a word. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I know you well enough to know when you are lying… _badly_. What seems to be the trouble?"

"You and Velanna certainly seem to be hitting it off."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that you look awfully friendly with someone you've only just met." There was an accusatory air to her tone.

Nathaniel's mouth was upturned in a smug smile.

"If I didn't know any better, Commander, I would say that you're jealous."

"Jealous? Me?" She snorted. "Of what?"

"I don't know… the fact that she's a lovely woman? Or that her interest in me is not entirely professional? Perhaps both?"

"You're flattering yourself to think that. Keep on dreaming, _Howe_."

He fixed her with such a ridiculous look that her anger soon abated and she dissolved into laughter. Zevran's earring seemed to be burning on her left index finger. She twisted it in thought as she spoke.

"Maker's mercy… I feel so foolish. I think it's the journey that has me not thinking clearly."

"We are all on edge," he admitted. His eyes briefly grazed past her to where the bow lay, only inches away. "What is that?"

Aeryn sighed.

She'd been waiting for the perfect moment to give it to him, but between the attack and her little outburst, there had been no time. Now seemed as good a time as any; this was the closest to privacy they were going to get before they returned to Vigil's Keep—however long that was.

"Here," she said, scooping up the bow in her palms before presenting it to him.

"Is this what I think it is?" A boyish smile betrayed his excitement as he inspected every inch of the weapon from the neck to the plain pointed foot. "It is! That's the Howe crest burned into the wood right there. This is my grandfather Padraig's bow. Or, rather, my grandfather was the last to use it. It was originally made for an ancestor during the Exalted Marches. I can't _believe_ you found it!"

"It's yours, Nathaniel."

She was tempted to use his nickname, but she decided against it. He hadn't taken too kindly to her informal manner of address the last time; it would probably be no different now.

"I wanted to wait until the right moment to give it to you. It seemed appropriate since we were alone."

"Thank you. It's good to have a part of my family's legacy again, something to be proud of. And considering how my bow was partially damaged by the flames, it couldn't have come at a better time, Commander."

He grasped the neck of the bow and pretended to sight a target. The weight of the wood felt good in his hands; it was far more substantial than the common soldier's bow he had been forced to carry the entire time.

"Nobody's ever given me a gift like this before," he said softly, slinging the bow over one shoulder.

"You're welcome."

A smile quirked the corners of his mouth upward. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, gazing down at her with such an uncharacteristically serene expression that it was hard to believe this was the same man who had tried to kill her mere days ago.

"Nathaniel…" she said softly, stepping back a few paces. "Don't..."

This only drew him forward, transfixed by her lips as she spoke. As if in answer to her prayers, his head stooped and he lowered his mouth to hers slowly, closing the distance between them. Aeryn did nothing to stop him. Instead, she found herself angling her face toward his to meet his waiting lips. She took hold of his shoulder with one hand to steady herself. His skin was warm and his muscles were taut under her fingers. Her hand slid over her back, feeling him tense under her fingers. Using his teeth, he ensnared her full lower lip and tugged lazily away, returning to catch it again, then slanted his mouth over hers, letting his tongue do the plundering.

She could feel the strength in his arms and the sleek power in his body as he pulled her closer, the crush of his lips against hers intoxicating. Her hands somehow found their way around his neck, and she heard him groan softly into her mouth as her tongue worked up a rhythm against his own, drawing long, lazy circles before slipping back out. There was no mistaking the slight bulge that pressed against her middle. Maker's breath, he was not only kissing her, but—he was _aroused_ by her as well.

_What are you doing?_ said the nagging little voice in her head. _His father killed your family._

Abandoning all reason, she pushed the thought from her mind, too lost in the moment to have cared about anything else.

"Hey, Warden! You down here?" a gruff voice croaked.

As if on cue, their lips parted and the kiss was broken. Her eyes rolled unconsciously at the disruption. She wanted nothing more than to use Oghren as a punching bag at that moment.

Her eyes sought his out.

"We should… get back to what it was we were doing."

"Agreed."

They silently exited the clearing and returned to where the others awaited them.


	13. Chapter 13

XIII.

"It's about time you two showed up. We were about to send out a sodding search party!" Oghren grumbled as they marched nonchalantly back into the makeshift camp, doing their level best to act as though nothing had happened. Aeryn could swear she felt Velanna's stares drilling a hole in her back as she grabbed a plate of venison.

The meat was tender, with no trace of gaminess—very easily the best she had ever had, which was surprising. She wolfed it down as quickly as possible and then discarded the remnants of her meal—some poorly prepared potatoes—in the fire when no one was looking.

Nathaniel sat across from her with a plate of food. It took every bit of effort not to look at him. She could sense that he was trying to initiate eye contact, but he gave up soon enough when he realized she was ignoring him. She wasn't about to let her other traveling companions discover what had happened between them. It mortified her to think that her love for Zevran had died so easily. She knew that, given the chance, Oghren would call her out on this.

So she simply went on ignoring him.

It was quite difficult. The memory of his lips upon hers was still fresh in her mind. She could close her eyes and feel the way her body had responded to his with a wild, almost desperate need. She wanted him, desired to lay claim to his body, to run her hands through his hair in the throes of passion.

If she didn't stop this now, she wasn't going to have the power to stop it at all later on.

_Keep your mind focused on the mission at hand_, she told herself. The thought was sobering, but not nearly enough.

They broke camp a short while later and traveled north toward the Silverite Mine, where Velanna claimed to have last seen her sister. The mine was safely ensconced inside the ruins of an old tower that had been overgrown with vine stands in a shallow vale. Aeryn guessed that—from the looks of it—the entrance was forbidding enough to keep most unwanted visitors from venturing too far into it.

The heavy wood door was bolted shut, so Nathaniel jiggled the lock free. As the door opened inward, spilling out a wave of dust and debris into their faces, Aeryn held back a cough.

"Who turned out the lights?" Anders called into the vast darkness that stretched before him. Ser Pounce-a-lot had taken refuge in his pack and was peeking out occasionally in fear at the large gaping entrance.

"Think it's… uh… too late to turn back?" Oghren asked, scratching his braided red beard.

"Not a chance—if my sister's in there, we're going to find her!" Velanna screeched, directing her gaze at Nathaniel. "Isn't that right?"

He nodded somberly.

"The lady's right. There's no telling what could happen if we don't try and rescue her."

Aeryn had to wonder why he had such a personal investment in Velanna's hapless quest; she was just about ready to throw the woman off a cliff and call it a day, ungrateful nuisance that she was. Here she was, sharing their food and shelter, and she still had the gall to try and boss them around?

Just _who_ did she think she was?

In the short time since she had arrived, Aeryn's perception of her had shifted, due in no small part to her unwelcome attentions toward Nathaniel. But even beyond that, almost everything about her annoyed her to no end—her pretentious little purse-lipped smile, her trying-too-hard-to-be-sexy robes, and most of all her hair. _Maker_, how she loathed her hair! It could be best described as a messy blonde bun, but it looked more like a bad case of bedhead to Aeryn.

Still, they needed her help to fight the Darkspawn. They were always willing to take on extra hands, and Velanna had proven a more than capable fighter on the battlefield—if not a little too "damsel in distress" for Aeryn's tastes.

"We're going in," she announced against her better judgment.

Once inside, they fought their way through a dense maze of rooms that were overflowing with Darkspawn. They slashed and hacked their way through, making short work of everything in their path. Before long, they had come to a room where they were greeted by Seranni and another unexpected guest—the Architect himself, in the flesh.

As Velanna unsuccessfully bartered for her sister's freedom, the Architect cast a sleep spell over them that allowed him to imprison them in cells underground. When Aeryn awoke, she found herself face to face with Nathaniel, who was bent double over her with one arm under her head, supporting it. His sweet breath tickled her cheek, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

"She's coming to!" he exclaimed. "Give her room."

A blur of faces watched her from the periphery of her vision. As she sat up, a sharp pain lanced through her head. It would almost have felt better to just lie down.

"Wha… what happened?"

"While you were out, we had a tête-à-tête with our good friend the Architect," Anders chattered excitedly. "Oh, it was simply marvelous! First the tea, and then the crumpets…"

"He has Seranni. She appears to have been—_indoctrinated_ somehow," Velanna said, sounding quite distraught. "She does his bidding freely. What if there's no saving her? What if it's too late?"

"Don't worry about your sister. We'll get her back," Aeryn assured her.

Nathaniel's hand still supported her as she sat up, releasing the breath she had been holding. She noticed that all of her companions had been stripped of their armor and dressed in their normal clothes—herself included.

"What happens now?"

"You're the Warden-Commander—aren't you supposed to have a plan?" Anders replied hopefully. "One that preferably doesn't involve us having to resort to cannibalism, locked away in here for weeks on end…"

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that, mage," Nathaniel spat in irritation.

Mercifully, they were spared from such an ignoble fate when Seranni came by to sneak them the keys to their freedom. After a whispered promise to her sister that they would soon reunite, the companions escaped their prison cell and fought their way out of the mines. It was not an easy task; Darkspawn awaited them at every turn. Anders and Justice took the right flank while Oghren and Velanna took the left, Nathaniel heading up the back. Eventually, after clearing out the area, they managed to fight their way out and back onto the Pilgrim's Path.

* * *

From there, it was a day's journey to the inhospitable and barren Knotwood Hills in the west of Ferelden. Craggy slopes and violent rock slides rendered the ground almost impossible to negotiate. Skeletal trees overtaken by prolonged drought peppered the barren hillsides. Although the inhospitable terrain hindered what progress they'd made, they pressed doggedly forward, determined to uncover the entrance to the legendary Kal'Hirol.

As they walked, her companions struck up a conversation to pass the time.

"So… Justice," Anders began. "What happens when your body starts to decompose? I've put quite a lot of money on you, see. I'm hoping you'll hold together at least until the end of our mission. Think you'll ever find another _victi_—I mean, willing participant?"

"I did not even wish to possess this body. Why would I switch to another?" the spirit calmly asked.

"Oh, I don't know… don't you think it might get a bit _scary_ when your face starts falling off as we're walking? And what if your legs quit working? What then? You can't very well fight Darkspawn on a pair of nubs. That won't do."

"It is a… disturbing thought," he admitted. "One I do not wish to dwell on."

"Just saying…" Anders added. "You might want to think about some kind of back-up plan. You're starting to look a little emaciated. No offense, of course."

"None taken, mage."

"You're awfully chatty today," Aeryn whispered to Anders in an undertone as they continued walking. "Is something the matter?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, for one, you haven't mentioned Ser Pounce-a-lot in about two hours. You're completely besotted with that little cat."

"It's just that I… well, I suppose my mind is preoccupied with other thoughts."

"Such as?"

Anders' eyes darted from side to side.

"You know what a phylactery is, right?"

"I may not come from the Circle Tower, but I'm no idiot."

"Well, while my phylactery remains untouched, the templars can yet find me. It would be more convenient—for, uh, everyone involved—were we to simply… you know."

"Destroy it?"

"_Destroy my phylactery? Have you gone mad?_" he cried, looking about to be sure none of their companions were listening. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he added, "But yes… can we?"

"Do you know where it is?"

"Not presently, but I thought if we could keep an ear to the ground, then perhaps…"

"Yes, of course. We'll look for it as soon as possible."

"Oh, Maker's mercy! Thank you."

In a deep gorge in the middle of the valley, they found a tattooed dwarf desperately fighting for her life amid a throng of Darkspawn. She was vastly outnumbered, swinging wildly in every direction with savage grunts. Had they come a moment later, she would have been dead.

She introduced herself as Sigrun, a member of the Legion of the Dead. And Oghren promptly began hitting on her.

As expected.

With Sigrun's help, they found the entrance into Kal'Hirol, the once-grand fortress that stood as a center of learning and culture for dwarven society. She said the Darkspawn had slaughtered her group, and she wanted to repay the debt in blood. She seemed to think that Kal'Hirol was being used as a breeding ground for the creatures—a thought that had frightening implications.

The city was an underground labyrinth characterized by mile upon mile of dark, gaping passageways that connected to several hidden chambers and crypts. Fantastic stalactite and stalagmite formations had built up from mineral deposits within the connecting caves, and cool natural pools streamed alongside untouched terrain.

They spent the night in the thaig.

There were Darkspawn everywhere, but they managed to clear out enough of an area in which to set up camp. Justice helped Anders pitch the tents while Oghren and Sigrun seemed engrossed in a discussion. Velanna sat nearby, throwing everyone icy looks. Aeryn unpacked her bedroll and then traipsed off to find the rogue.

When she came upon Nathaniel, he was sitting beside the river, using the sharp edge of his dagger to shave. He had about a day's worth of growth on his face, making his soul patch look unkempt. He worked the blade very precisely around the tiny patch beneath his lip, ever mindful not to cut himself. The blade made a gritting sound as it dragged across his face, leaving behind a clean patch of skin.

"How can you do that without a mirror?" Aeryn asked as she approached. Worried she'd startled him, she quickly added, "Sorry. I hope I didn't frighten you."

"Not at all. You could do with a softer pair of boots."

"My mother always used to say the same thing. She also used to say my posture was a little 'slouchy' for a Cousland. That's mothers for you."

He rewarded her with a disarming smile.

"Nate," she began with a twinge of familiarity in her voice, "I wanted to have a moment to talk. About the other day…"

He immediately cut off whatever she was going to say.

"I should apologize. It was unwise of me to do what I did. I fear it was _me_ who wasn't thinking clearly."

Her heart fell.

"Think nothing of it," the words mechanically left her lips. She wanted to cringe even as she said them. "I've put it behind me already, and you should too."

"I already have, Warden-Commander," he said with a nod, sheathing the blade in his boot. "I'm glad to know this won't affect things between us. We're here for a reason, and one reason only: to defeat the Darkspawn."

"Yes."

"I would see that purpose fulfilled."

She nodded politely, turned, and re-entered the camp, slinking down into her bedroll. She pulled the plush bedding over herself to try and keep warm. The cold from the caverns was beginning to seep into her bones.

Nearby, Sigrun was relating fantastic stories of her journeys in the Lost Thaig to Oghren, who mostly looked enraptured with her bosom (even though it was covered). When it was clear she no longer had his complete and utter attention, she stormed off with a curse. Grasping her bedroll around her shoulders, Aeryn rose and went to his side.

"This seat taken?"

"Not if you don't have some ale with you, it isn't. I could sodding use a pint right now."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm currently ale-free."

Though she rather wished she _wasn't_.

"Eh, figures. No ale, no ass, and some bloody woman chewing me out just for staring at her rack." He inhaled deeply. "Reminds me of home."

"I thought you enjoyed your home life with Felsi and the baby. You seemed content for a while there."

"Content? Yeah, I guess if you can call pissed off beyond belief content."

"I don't understand. When did it start to go sour?"

"I suppose it was when Fels started complaining. About petty things at first—not hanging up my clothes, trekking mud through her sodding pristine house—then it was all, 'Where have you been all night, Oghren?' and 'The baby and I can't just take care of ourselves!' When she was done talking my ear off, I left. Couldn't take another minute of the torture."

"That's sad," Aeryn said. "If I were you, I would've tried harder to hold onto a good thing."

"Not you too," Oghren complained, looking at her through sleepy eyes. "By the stone, you damned women are all the same. Always focusing on the would've-should've-could've."

"Let me put it this way… you love her, don't you?"

"Yeah. Love to wring her neck, that is."

"Well, I _know_ you. You'll find some way to make it work. You don't want your child growing up fatherless, do you?"

"When you put it that way…"

"Life is too short to put off sharing with people how much they really mean to you," Aeryn said, her thoughts drifting momentarily to Bryce and Eleanor. She hadn't ever had the proper chance to tell them she loved them before their slaughter at the hands of Howe's army. At least she wasn't completely alone. At least she still had Fergus.

_Fergus._

How long had it been since his return from Highever? He had since absconded to King Alistair's court, ostensibly on extended leave of absence while under command of the king. Aeryn had the nagging suspicion that it was due in no small part to the bad memories that awaited him at home. Highever was not the same, even with the new staff that had taken up residence within its halls. The innocent blood spilled that night was none so easily washed away.

Heeding her own advice, she decided to contact Fergus upon her return and spend some time with her brother. She missed him so, and if she had to guess, he was feeling the same way about her. Oriana and Oren's deaths left a gaping hole in his life. Part of her had worried for his mental health soon after the defeat of the Darkspawn, but he had given her no indication that he was planning to take his own life. Ever stoic, her brother maintained that he could handle it.

And that's just what he did.

With a sad smile, Aeryn excused herself and curled up in her bedroll, pulling the blanket over her head. Her mind was too consumed with worry to ponder anything further, so she willed herself to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

XIV.

Their time in the Lost Thaig was brief. After finding and killing another of the Darkspawn disciples, as well as a beast of enormous stature called a Broodmother, they exited the city—and not a moment too soon. Things were looking up. Though the killing of the Broodmother had not entirely put a stop to the proliferation of this new, intelligent breed of Darkspawn, it would certainly act as a deterrent. In the meantime, they had business to conclude in Amaranthine before returning to Seneschal Varel with news of their minor victories.

Much of the day was spent running errands along the city streets. After destroying Anders' phylactery—housed in a warehouse in the center square of town—and arranging a meeting with one of Sigrun's contacts, they poured all their energy into tracking down Kristoff's wife, Aura. Their Chantry contacts gave them directions where to find her, and off they went.

They found her tending a small patch of garden on the outskirts of the city. The front door of the ramshackle wattle and daub cottage was open, and the inside appeared to be filthy, littered with dirt and excrement from the chickens running about. Outside, the blonde woman appeared to be pruning and planting a new line of shrubs for the next growing season. She was so engrossed in their work, she didn't hear them approach.

"Aura…" Justice's solemn voice spoke softly from behind her. At the noise, she spun about, nearly toppling off her feet at the sight of her dead husband standing there, looking slightly worse for wear. Just as she was about to raise a cry of fear, he added, "Please, do not be alarmed. I do not wish to frighten you."

She dropped the tool she had been using to garden and took a step back, her blue eyes widening.

"You… you are the… the _thing_… in my husband's body."

Her soft Orlesian accent was like music to their ears, comforting and warm, yet with a note of definite sadness.

"I am a spirit of Justice. I meant your husband no harm. I would ease your distress, had I the power."

"I… _knew_, when he left, that this could happen. He told me. His father died a Grey Warden too."

"Tell me, is there anything I can do for you? Tell me and I will do it."

She clasped her hands together prayerfully, gaining enough courage to draw nearer him.

"Avenge him, spirit. I will wait for his ashes a little longer, if it means that whoever did this to him will pay."

She dolefully let her hands trace the familiar contours of his face, settling on the hollows beneath his eyes before venturing south to the curve of his jaw. There was sorrow etched in her features, and tears trembled on her eyelashes, threatening to spill forth. Though she said nothing, it was clear how deeply she had loved him.

"With pleasure." His hand touched his neck, where he drew off the locket they had salvaged from Kristoff's camp. "I believe this belongs to you."

The locket curled around her hand. With a sigh, she clutched it to her breast and read the inscription inside. It was enough to send her running back into the house, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Did I… do the right thing?"

"I think so, yes."

"She loved this man a great deal, and he loved her. I… _envy_ what they had."

Aeryn had to agree with him. Seeing how deeply Kristoff's death had touched the woman he loved was almost unbearable. She had no love of her own to possess, nothing left now that Zevran had gone and Nathaniel was being shifty.

"Thank you for bringing me here."

"Certainly, Justice. I could tell how much it meant to you. I'm just glad you were able to get a sense of closure—for both yourself and her."

"I am now more determined than ever to see the Darkspawn cast out of Ferelden. His death must be avenged, as I promised."

They walked back along the city streets and hiked up the small incline toward the Chantry. As they passed, Nathaniel's gaze strayed to the statue of Andraste mounted out front. An audible sigh escaped his lips, but it went largely unnoticed because Oghren was excitedly pointing out _The Crown and Lion Inn_.

"Commander, I think a round of drinks is calling our name."

"Oghren, we don't really have ti—"

"Oh, sod your excuses! What's a quick drink among friends?"

Sighing, Aeryn acquiesced. "Fine, but one drink. Just _one_! And then we're on our way."

"My sister's being held hostage by the Darkspawn and you're _stopping for a drink_?" Velanna asked. "Commander, really?"

"One drink won't kill you, _elf_."

Her eyes narrowed with mistrust in Oghren's direction.

"Turn your head when you speak to me, dwarf, lest your foul breath be allowed to contaminate the air."

"That's enough, you two," Aeryn interceded. "Come on. We'll only be a minute, and then we'll be on our way again."

The inn was filled to the brim with patrons—mostly drunk men and women warming their hands on glasses of hot mulled cider while well-dressed revelers occupied the dinner tables. Aeryn saw couples everywhere and suddenly felt lonely. Snatches of conversation from wagging tongues around her all held a similar theme: concern over the impending Darkspawn threat and the city's defenses.

Their presence seemed to have drawn its fair share of stares as well. As Aeryn's eyes drifted toward the center of the room, she was vaguely aware of the whispered conversations and covert glances being flung her way. She felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny so, trying her best to blend in to her surroundings, she bought herself an ale for five silvers and took a seat nearest the window.

Her drink was gone in less than a minute. It felt good to indulge for once. She was so used to putting up a strong, stoic front that it was a welcome relief to finally let her hair down.

Just as she was starting to feel a little woozy from the alcohol, Nathaniel approached with a full bottle in one hand, a glass in the other. He didn't wait for her to invite him to sit.

"Didn't want to drink alone?" she teased as he slid into the booth.

"I figured you would need another after all we'd been through, Warden-Commander."

"Pour me a double."

"On your command, my lady Cousland."

Pulling the stopper free, Nathaniel tipped the contents of the bottle into her cup, letting the frothy brew spill and run all over the cup.

"Sometimes I find that wine, in sufficient quantities, can make you forget the most awful of situations."

"Spoken like a true drunk," she said, clinking her glass to his. "Cheers."

The wine slid over her tongue and down her throat, subtle yet strangely potent.

"This is good. What is it?"

"It's the special house brew. Although I don't quite see what's so special about it."

"What's special is that it's getting me drunk. That's enough for me."

"You certainly are easy to please."

"Not always," she sighed, her lips moistening the rim of the cup. Her eyes lingered perhaps a little longer than necessary on Nathaniel's face, and he quickly changed the subject.

"That… _statue_… in the Chantry courtyard. Did you happen to notice it as we passed?"

"What statue?"

"The monument to Andraste. I saw it once before when we greeted your friend Wynne here, but I said nothing then. I was too ashamed."

"Ashamed of what?"

"My family's legacy." He drew a deep breath. "Perhaps I should explain. The statue was of Arl Byron Howe, my great-uncle. He died in the rebellion, helping King Maric reclaim his throne."

"Oh, I didn't know, Nate… I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I only met him once or twice when he came to court. He was never really a part of my life."

"That still doesn't mean he isn't deserving of some respect," Aeryn added. "If he was one of King Maric's men, then he must have been a good man and loyal supporter."

Then again, the same had been said of Arl Rendon Howe… and she was all too familiar with how that story had ended.

"It just figures, actually. His statue is gone all because of what my father did. It's almost a pity."

"As the new Arlessa of Amaranthine, I could see to it that the statue is rebuilt, if you'd like," she offered shyly.

"Don't bother. Nobody here will want to see it." He absently traced a circle around the rim of his cup with his forefinger. "There's a long line of heroes in my family. The Howes have been around since Calenhad. Now it's all gone."

Her hand covered his and stroked it gently.

"And that's why it's up to you to restore what was lost. To make sure those heroes aren't forgotten. And what a noble cause it is."

He removed her hand from his and continued drinking. Surprised, Aeryn leaned backward and pretended to watch some of the sights out of the window. She didn't want to seem too disappointed-looking.

"Do you want to stop by and see Delilah and Albert once again before we leave?"

"No, we'd only impose. And besides, we have other matters to attend to before then."

Just as he had been beginning to finally open up to her, Velanna came over and sunk down into the booth, cozying up to him with a drink in her hand. Her dismissive manner had transformed completely once she noticed Nathaniel enjoying a moment alone with his fellow Grey Warden.

"How are we doing over here?" she trilled, sipping at her mug.

"Just fine," Aeryn answered.

_Before you showed up._

"Sigrun and Oghren think the ale tastes—and I quote—like 'nug piss,' but I don't think it's quite so bad. For a _shem_ brew. I can't imagine dwarven ale tasting any better."

"You'd be surprised what dwarven ale tastes like," Nathaniel said, gazing over at her.

"Don't tell me you've been hitting the bars of Orzammar?" Velanna replied.

"On occasion. Funny story, that. One time I found myself in the back of Tapster's Tavern…"

"I'll just leave you two alone," Aeryn said, taking her drink with her to walk over toward one of the other tables where Justice sat alone, in deep meditation. Nathaniel was continuing to chatter away even after she left.

She eased herself into the seat beside the spirit, who was staring forlornly down at the table.

"Justice? Is something the matter?"

"Forgive me," he replied, looking up to meet her gaze. "I have been thinking of Aura and Kristoff. I continue to envy their love. But envy is what a demon feels, a desire for something it cannot have. I fear that this body's emotions are overtaking me, imprisoning me ever the more within."

"There are many things we desire as mortals, but that doesn't always make us demons, Justice," she began with a sigh. "Sometimes we have to battle between what the heart wants and what the mind thinks it should have."

"You desire _him_," he said after some time, watching her eyes stare at Nathaniel and Velanna. They were laughing and enjoying themselves as they leaned in to one another, obviously immersed in whatever it was they were talking about. Their body language seemed to indicate their mutual attraction.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said with complete and utter calm. "It would be improper for me to develop… _attachments_ to one of my subordinates."

"I have seen the way you look at him, Warden-Commander, and I've seen the way he looks at you, as have we all."

A hot blush crept into her cheeks at his comment. Had she really been so transparent?

"It is nothing you should concern yourself with, Justice."

"I worry for you, Commander, should you let such feelings find expression. Desire and lust do you no credit."

"Well, stop worrying. I'm fine. I can handle myself just fine," she assured him.

She left the table, seeking out a quiet alcove in which to drink. Watching her companions enjoy themselves was making her feel lonely. At least they would soon be back at Vigil's Keep, and not too long after that they would break ranks…

And then Nathaniel and his damnable pride would be gone from her life forever.

The thought warmed her.


	15. Chapter 15

XV.

She went silently into the stable from a side door of the tavern and watched the rain pour down as a blanket of mist rolled into the city of Amaranthine. In the days when griffons roamed the land, the stables offered respite from the discomfort of the streets, and the griffons were often tethered here as their masters slept. Now thought to be extinct, they existed in stories of fantasy only, a relic of the high-flying past of the Grey Wardens.

Aeryn's hands gripped the fence encircling the small enclosure, her feet lodged firmly in the damp hay and straw. She watched several unlucky passersby take refuge behind any bit of shelter they could find as the rain fell harder, pummeling the city with renewed force.

The rain wasn't abating. It had turned dark, the sky an ominous gray-blue shade as clouds rolled in overhead. She didn't relish the thought of spending the night here, especially given how eager she was to return to Vigil's Keep, but she had since learned there was no sense in trying to push her companions through blistering conditions.

So she stood there watching, waiting, thinking. The tears she had forced back, watching Velanna shamelessly drape herself over the arm of the rogue as he sat there drinking his wine, were beginning to break through. For a moment, she wearily thought she would let them come. Hopefully a quick walk through the rain would disguise the fact she had been crying from her companions. And, should they ask, she would simply lie and say she was overtired from the journey.

She wished she could cry. What a relief it would have been to flush all the despair and grief away with a few tears shed in the solitude of the day. If she began to sob, she felt she would just cry and cry with no will to ever cease. The last time she had given in to such a desire had been the night Duncan took her away from Castle Highever.

It seemed like another lifetime ago now.

The door slammed hard behind her, and her skin iced. She turned to see Anders' alcohol-blurred gaze resting upon her as he said, with a stupid grin, "_Hey_."

"Anders."

"Justice said I might find you here. How are you faring?"

"I'm all right, I suppose. I just needed a moment alone."

"Maker's breath, have you... have you been crying?" Anders looked suddenly and uncharacteristically shy as a mouse.

"I… no, I haven't," she said, dabbing at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. _Blood and damnation_. She could definitely feel moisture seeping forth from her eyes. Her will was not quite as strong as she'd hoped. "I'm just… tired."

"Ah, yes, tired," Anders repeated, the whole hard length of his body pushing against the fence as he gazed out at nothing in particular. "I often weep when I'm tired too. And when I'm scared, and nervous, and hungry… and sometimes when I'm happy too. You can't know how detrimental it is to my love life."

She elbowed him playfully in the ribs, wiping a hand across her nose, which was reddened with the cold.

"Would you look at me? I'm a mess."

"But a very _pretty_ mess, I'll give you that, dear lady."

"You don't have to resort to flattery to appease me, Anders. I have enough bootlickers waiting to pander to my vanity at home."

"But none who can lick your boots quite as thoroughly as I." A devious smile supplanted the worry marrying his features. "Wait… that sounded a lot _less_ dirty in my head…"

She smiled, holding her face against his shoulder as his arm unconsciously encircled her in a comforting gesture. She relaxed her head against him, feeling completely at ease.

"I just don't understand what he sees in _her_."

"He who? Nathaniel?"

She did a double take.

"Andraste's ashes! First Justice and now you. Does the whole bloody world know about it?"

"Well, you two aren't exactly the epitome of discretion with the long, lingering looks you've been throwing one another. Oghren thinks you should just 'rut and get it over with.' His words, not mine. Ever the eloquent and cogent speaker, he is."

She blushed and looked out into the drenching rain that left the roads flooded and impassable. The rain was slowing a little, the day still damp and dismal in spite of it. The weather seemed to mirror her spirits.

"I don't see why it should matter to you."

"Well, if you want to hike your skirt up and have a go at it, I'm sure we could find some way of getting back at him right here and now. That's the great thing about mages' robes… they make for quick trysts in the corners. No laces or buttons or fabrics for you to get stuck on. Just a simple in-and-out procedure… so to speak."

His wit was wicked, but she could not help but snicker at the jest.

"Always thinking with your head, eh? And not the one on your shoulders."

"Just trying to offer my services as your trusted friend and confidante."

"Oh, Anders. You and your wicked schemes," she said with a giggle. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think it would be wise."

"Perhaps another time then," he said with a devious little wink.

"Perhaps."

"Now then, are you feeling better?"

"I think so, yes."

"Well enough to go back inside?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Take my arm. And try to look madly in love with me—not that it's difficult, mind. We'll show him what fun it is to turn the tables on him."

"I like that idea."

With a guiding hand on her arm, he led her in through the back door and to one of the tables, where they sat down and talked until nearly nightfall. The rain had picked up again, though it was not nearly as fierce as before. Aeryn announced to her companions that she thought it best they depart for Vigil's Keep as soon as possible, and they were in accordance with her wishes.

Under the last brilliance of a setting sun, they set out from the city gates, traveling the main road. The damp earth was trampled and muddy from the passage of travelers before them. Swallowing her revulsion, she led the charge through the soaking wet roads and onward toward the Keep.

* * *

They arrived sometime after midnight. The ramparts of Vigil's Keep had been crowned with wooden palisades in the commander's absence. On the ground below, some hundred peasants armed with pitchforks and scythes cried up to the tower, their angry voices lost on the wind. More than fifty men manned the besieged wall and patrolled the guard houses. A formidable contingent of archers had their crossbows aimed at the revolt taking place below, prepared to put it down at whatever the cost.

When they arrived, the guards raised up a cry to alert those inside the castle to their presence. Seneschal Varel and Captain Garevel descended the stairs with a pair of guards in tow, bowing to Aeryn as she greeted him. A chorus of booing greeted her ears.

"Thank the Maker you arrived, Commander. We were beginning to worry you'd never come."

"Seneschal. Captain."

"Things are getting out of hand. There has been… _unrest_ in the region. Many of the vassals are unhappy, and in turn the peasants seem to be staging a revolution. Perhaps if you addressed them, they would be placated. Bann Esmerelle speaks for them… you may want to meet with her, though not before confronting your subjects."

"Bann Esmerelle be damned! I gave her and her lackeys free reign of the castle in my absence. For her to incite the peasant folk to riot… was a very stupid move indeed on her part. I am not happy with the way things are being run in my absence, Seneschal. Not happy at all."

"Now is not the time to argue, Commander. We are on the brink of a civil war. It would be best for you to speak with the peasants forthwith. Maybe you can say a few words, make them see reason. Persuade them to stand down, or we will suffer even greater losses when the Darkspawn march on Vigil's Keep."

That was all the persuasion Aeryn needed to drop the matter. She turned and faced the riotous crowd. Torches were waved in her direction, fires blazing in the night which illuminated the faces of the angry peasants. The few guards stationed at the entrance of the keep were being jostled and pushed aside by the mob.

It was clear if something was not done soon to rectify the situation, it would get out of hand. Thoughts of the Keep under siege, torched to the ground by the same people who had worked their whole lives to reinforce it, was incredibly sobering.

She had to act fast.

Just as she stepped up to the podium to prepare an impromptu speech, at her side she felt a slightly brusque tug on her hand. She turned and met Nathaniel's comforting gaze, his eyes smoldering in the darkness as he sought to wordlessly convey his support for her. With a final squeeze, she released his hand, flipping about once more.

"Pure political grandstanding at its finest," she muttered beneath her breath before speaking. "Here goes nothing…"

She cleared her throat, and surprisingly the crowd fell silent. Letting her eyes scan the sea of faces before landing on a number of noble vassals she recognized, it became evident to Aeryn then who the instigator was of this hostile uprising.

She would have Bann Esmerelle's head for this act of treachery when she saw her.

It would look nice upon a pike above the city walls. Certainly nicer than it ever had in real life, mousy thing that she was.

"Some of my own soldiers are among that rabble," Captain Garevel informed her in hushed tones. "Their insolence must be punished. You don't coddle a revolt; you put it down. Just give me the order."

"Stay your weapons, Captain. I want to speak to them first."

"Much good will it do you."

"Good people," she began in as professional a tone possible, her voice ringing out along the walls of the courtyard, "Now, more than ever, we must stand together as one against the oppression of the Darkspawn. If we unite as a single faction, then we can cast down their tyranny and liberate ourselves. If not, we are only dooming ourselves to a lifetime of barbarity and cruelty—not only for ourselves, but for our children and our children's children as well."

Her words had amazingly begun to stir the crowds. Fists raised in support of her declarations as she spoke and paced the podium.

"Years of subjugation… and all for what? For a night's worth of petty revenge? Once a people has lost its imperium… it is a people no longer. I may not be as beloved a ruler as your former Arl, but I am certainly not the ineffectual incumbent painted by my opponents. I will not lead you astray—this I swear to you. You have my solemn vow to do all within my power to protect and defend the Keep."

Mercifully, the crowd was swayed by her speech, and Aeryn stepped down, feeling quite weary, as Varel and Garevel both congratulated her. Her relief was short-lived, however; they walked inside the Keep and were promptly greeted by Bann Esmerelle.

The woman had donned an emerald green robe that looked far too sumptuous for her station. Both hands were crossed presciently before her as she looked at the Warden with an expression of complete and utter satisfaction.

"Arlessa Cousland," she greeted, her beak-like nose dipping with the rest of her head in a mocking bow. "The Vigil welcomes you home, the prodigal hero returned at last."

"I see you have been very busy in my absence," Aeryn shot back. "I know what you are planning."

"On the contrary, Arlessa, you haven't the slightest idea."

She snapped her fingers. On her command, ten armed Antivan Crows emerged from their hiding places behind the large columns in the throne room. Some wielded crossbows while others had daggers concealed in their hands and were aching to brandish them with menace. If she had to guess, there were more men hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right time to make their entrance.

Aeryn took a step back, both hands upraised. Behind her, she heard her companions draw steel.

"Sodding fantastic. A revolt _and_ an ambush… all in one night," Oghren complained. "What's next, an assassination attempt? Don't keep me in suspense."

"Quiet, fool!" Esmerelle's voice screeched. "My business is with the Arlessa."

"If it's me you want, then let my friends go."

At her back, she felt Nathaniel start, pausing when he realized he could do nothing to help her. He steadfastly held his bow with its arrow nocked and aimed straight at Esmerelle's heart.

"You're in no position to make demands. Go back to Castle Highever and leave the Vigil to those who know best how to rule it."

"I can't do that. I can't simply walk away."

"Then you will die."

She snapped her fingers.

The Crows immediately sprung to action. Aeryn unsheathed her swords from the richly worked scabbards belted to her waist, rushing at them with a violence that stunned even her companions. The whirling shapes of several unseen attackers, materializing before her very eyes, resolved themselves crisply into tangible shapes. Anger fueled her movements, and as she twirled her swords skillfully to clash with her opponents, she could feel Anders and Nathaniel at her back, picking off stragglers in the shadows. Arrow after furious arrow was launched, all of them lodging in the breast of a redheaded Crow so that he resembled a porcupine. Meanwhile, Justice, Velanna, Oghren, and Sigrun swung away at their opponents with deadly precision.

When some of the ambush had been cleared, Aeryn ran for Esmerelle, grabbing the woman about the neck and dragging her, feet dangling, into an alcove off-shooting the main chamber. There she plunged her sword deep into the squirming woman's breast, working the blade back and forth to make her demise as painful as possible. Her squirming soon subsided, and she was still.

It was at that moment she was seized from behind by a pair of unseen hands. One tanned arm tightened its grip around her neck, yanking her back into the room with brute force. From the periphery of her blurred vision, she saw Nathaniel level a kick to an assassin's midsection and then sweep his feet out from under him.

The fringes of her vision grayed out as she lost oxygen to her brain. She was slowly suffocating. Relentless pain seeped through her aching body.

She was certain it was over.

And then the pressure released and her lungs filled with air. She stumbled forward as Nathaniel rushed at her attacker, gaining her footing a moment later. Gripping the skin of her neck with a deep cough, she turned and looked around, her features completely horror-stricken. There before her lay a face she half-expected never to see again.

"_Zevran?!_" The whisper barely passed her lips.

Caught momentarily off-guard, the Antivan elf found himself gazing up at her from the ground, completely at her mercy for the second time in his life. He had to laugh at the irony, a lighthearted chuckle escaping his lips.

"My dear Warden. Fate _is_ such a tricky whore, isn't she?"


	16. Chapter 16

XVI.

In her wildest dreams, she had never thought that she would see Zevran again. Although her dreams of him had been gaining steadily in frequency over the last few weeks, she wanted to dismiss them as the product of unconscious wishes and yearnings. She had almost forgotten just how rich and warm his voice was, like honey, slow and sweet and dripping with sensuality. His dark eyes glinted with just a touch of mischief.

She had missed him and thought regretfully of the time they were lovers. Yet here he lay before her, completely at her mercy, and more prone to revealing his reasons for leaving due to the sword pointed at his throat. Despite this, he somehow knew he would not die. The near imperceptible tensing of her jaw as the memories began to consume her told him as much.

"My dear, we must stop this business of always meeting under such—_unpleasant_—circumstances," he teased. "I'm beginning to think you have a natural talent for attracting attention of the injurious kind."

"Only from you, apparently," she quipped, keeping her blades raised and pointed at him.

"Well, lucky for you, you're royally tough to kill."

"Right. Lucky for me."

Her grip twisted sideways on the hilts.

"I would ask what you've done to have so many people wanting you dead, but I think I already know, yes? The usual, I imagine… you've threatened someone's power and they want to kill you. Or is it something much more saucy? A royal indiscretion of some kind? Please, do tell. I am _aching_ to hear more."

His voice dropped an octave as he gave it the necessary amount of allure.

"You're the one trying to kill me; obviously you know all the details already."

Around them, she noticed the remaining guards had been shaken sufficiently enough to back off. Oghren and Justice had wrestled most of them to the ground, pinning their hands to their backs as they relieved them of their weapons. Oghren was grinning widely as he watched the elf on his knees before her.

"On the contrary, my dear, had I known _you_ were the mark, I never would haven taken the contract on your life. All I was told was that it was a substantial sum for a high-ranking official. She said nothing of a… _Grey Warden_."

He smiled wickedly as he said the last words, his tongue tripping over every syllable with perfect inflection.

"So now I find myself once again at your mercy, dear lady. _Whatever_ shall you do with me?"

"What indeed," Aeryn began, walking almost lazy circles around him as she kept her swords trained near to his neck. "Should I cut out your heart and keep it as a souvenir, or should I simply let you go free so you can run back to Antiva as you did before?"

"You have such a—_wounding_—way with words, my fair Warden. Myself, I was hoping for something far more stimulating, possibly involving a coil of rope and a bed."

At this, Nathaniel started, indignation causing him to almost explode with anger at Zevran's little libidinous fantasy. It was very obvious he had inherited the infamous Howe temperament from his father, though he was only a little better at hiding his true feelings than Rendon was. He rushed forward, aiming his bow clear at the elven assassin's head, the tip of the arrow barely grazing one tattooed cheek.

"Speak to her again like that and your life is forfeit," he growled.

"Do not harm Zevran," she commanded, abandoning the guise of menace as her swords left his throat. She extended an arm to him and helped pull him to his feet, their hands locking briefly. She felt Zevran's finger flicker unconsciously over the earring on her index finger, pausing a moment when he realized what it was. His hand upon hers only expounded the intimacy of the moment.

She wished this was something they could share in private, and not with the stares of so many prying eyes surrounding her. Captain Garevel and Seneschal Varel still stood behind her, watching the scene unfold without a sound.

"This is _Zevran_?" Nathaniel said, still standing beside her should she need him to jump into action at a moment's notice. "_The_ Zevran?"

"My reputation precedes me, I see," the blonde elf glowered, dusting off his armor. "Do we know each other, my good man? Were we lovers once?"

Nathaniel blanched at the suggestion, looking particularly disgusted.

"No, though I believe you were well acquainted with my father, Arl Howe… the man who hired you to execute the lady Cousland. Or have you forgotten that already, _elf_?"

Zevran winced as though the word had physically pierced his flesh.

"Arl Howe? Yes, I seem to remember the man… sullen, taciturn, slightly lacking in the looks department? Does this seem to fit his description?"

"You dare!"

His words were all the provocation needed for Nathaniel to draw back the bowstring even tighter, prepared to kill him where he stood.

"Nate," Aeryn growled, her voice having taken on a gruff edge. "Stop it."

"Nate, is it?" Zevran said, looking up into the face of the dark, pensive man.

"Nathaniel," he corrected.

"Look, I have no idea what your issues are with me, but the Warden and I have business together. Isn't that right, my dear?"

"Yes, there is much we must discuss. It has been too long."

She dismissed the captain's men and told the seneschal she would retire to her quarters with Zevran to discuss their matters in private.

"Commander, do you really think this wise?" Seneschal Varel. "This man tried to kill you!"

"As did Nathaniel, but you don't see me exacting punishment on him, do you?"

"The Howe… his was a special case. There's no telling what underhanded tactics this sly assassin may employ once he has you alone with him."

"I agree," Nathaniel said, and it was clear from his proximity that he had crept up stealthily during the course of their conversation to add his opinion. "I say let justice be served!"

"Just give me a moment alone with him; that's all I ask," she said. "I won't be gone but a little while."

Nathaniel scowled.

"Very well, Commander," the seneschal replied, "But I urge you to let me station a man outside your chambers."

"It's not necessary. Zevran would have killed me already if he could have. The thing is, he was never any good at it."

She gave a half-hearted smile.

* * *

Aeryn had been waiting for this conversation for months. The only problem was, in all the times she had imagined it, they were back at camp, lying under the comfort of the stars, he with an arm thrown around her shoulders as he hugged her close. They had shucked their clothes in favor of much less encumbering attire, and her skin warmed considerably at his touch.

It was a far cry from the reality of the situation. The beige walls of her chamber, which before had seemed so inviting, now seemed to cut her off from air and light and life itself. How could people live behind walls this way? After having camped for so many nights in the chill spaces of the Fereldan countryside, the confinement was inexplicably stifling.

The walls continued their slow, deliberate advance as she took a seat by the fire, where Zevran was warming his hands. He had a few bumps and bruises from their altercation, but no major injuries that she could see.

"Such luxury… I could get used to this, you know. Servants waiting on you hand and foot, the pleasures of the flesh only a summons way… _Ah_, the rewards of being Arlessa, no?"

She couldn't have felt more different.

"It's all right, I suppose. Nothing like those long nights at camp."

"And such wonderful nights those were, my dear… full of such _pleasurable_ memories."

He cast his eyes on her in a penetrating stare. She squirmed under his gaze, shifting postures in her seat to appear as though she was getting comfortable, though it had the opposite effect intended.

"They were good memories. But they're in the past now."

Zevran relaxed against his chair, one arm flung over the back as he stared pensively into the fire.

"So let me ask… That friend of yours—the one who guards your flank like a loyal Mabari pup—the whole 'quiet and stoic' thing must really get him a lot of action, hmm?"

She modestly averted her eyes, hoping the elf wouldn't see through to her true intentions. At her lack of response, he blinked roughly, realization dawning on him.

"Oh… I see." Was that disappointment she heard in his voice? "You fancy him, do you not? It's quite all right for you to admit it if you do. He is… _something_ of a catch."

"No, of course not. Don't be foolish."

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his chair, one hand settling upon her knee with a fond squeeze.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he said. "You were never a very good liar, my Warden."

He removed his hand from her knee, spreading his thin fingers to the warmth of the fire, setting his mind into meditative silence.

"No matter. I am prepared to step aside properly, in a responsible fashion, so that you may pursue your fancies as you wish. I have been away too long. I no longer have any claim upon you—no right to hope that you would still want to marry me. I do not wish to constrain you. And your happiness means everything to me."

"You say that, but you have yet to offer me an explanation for why you left."

"What do you want me to say, my dear… that I'm sorry? That I apologize?" His voice dropped and took on a dangerous cadence. "Yes. The answer is yes. I regret what happened. Would that I could have done differently…"

"Thank you," she said. "I have been waiting to hear those words for too long. I had hoped you would return, but I feared that… oh, _Maker_ forgive me!"

She flew to her feet as tears dampened her face and she turned away from him. Wiping vigorously at her eyes, she sniffled a little. His hand landed on her shoulder with a comforting squeeze. As she turned to look up at him, she watched his long-lashed eyes fix upon her, his expression unfathomable.

"Dry your eyes," he whispered, pulling her near.

"Why did you leave?" she breathed. "Please just tell me. It will set my mind at ease."

"When the Crows came for me," he said at length, "I worried for your safety. I thought it best you remain hidden in Alistair's court rather than return to Antiva, where any number of people would have assassinated you to get to me. I almost could not bring myself to go. You slept so peacefully that night. I didn't want to wake you."

"I want to believe you. I do. Yet here I find myself the victim of another failed assassination attempt… at your hands, Zevran. It's all very ironic, isn't it?"

"As I said, fate had different plans for us, my Warden." He paused. "Or perhaps it's something beyond fate that keeps pulling us together in such ways. Now there's a sobering thought!"

She leaned forward very slowly and took his hands in her grasp. Skin against skin; it was just like she had imagined.

"Zevran, please listen to me. We are very different, you and I. I'm just beginning to realize now that perhaps it was for the best that you left, otherwise I wouldn't have had time to understand _how_ different we really were."

"The differences are only what you make of them, my Warden. Should you choose to accept this for what it is…"

"I can't. I need something more than a capricious lover. I can't take seeing you once every so often. I need someone here with me all the time." She paused. "You said you would step aside. I'm asking you to—_begging_ you—to do that for both our sakes."

After a moment of quiet contemplation, he replied, "Ah, I see. You have made your decision... good. It is perhaps best for us both." He stepped away from her, his eyes still focused completely on her face with a sad expression. "And now, my dear, I think the time has come for me to go."

"Yes, perhaps you should."

"You did, as I remind you, have me at your mercy. As I see it, we have two options before us. Either you imprison me within the Vigil, as you could have done when you caught me—as is your right, _Arlessa_—or you recognize that we are incompatible and allow me to leave peacefully. What is it to be?"

"Of course I'm going to let you and your men leave, Zev. We were lovers once, and I still hope that we are friends."

"We will always be friends, my Grey Warden."

She moved toward him as fast as her shaking knees would allow, taking hold of his face in her hands. Her palms cupped his chin, his cheeks, delving into his silken blonde hair before falling back at her sides. It seemed like hours passed as she committed his features to memory. It was then she presented her pale, supple left hand, ornamented with the shining golden earring he had earlier gifted her with at camp. She had stared at it often, remembering the words he had spoken when they'd become betrothed. With a simple tug, it slid off her finger effortlessly.

"Here," she whispered. "I think you should have this back. It seems only appropriate given the circumstances."

"No… it was given as a gift, _mi amor_. Keep it." His crooked smile was reassuringly lighthearted. "I insist."

She wasn't about to argue. The earring returned to its place on her hand, the familiar sting of metal a welcoming relief from the bitter agony she felt at having to do this. His thumb slid gently over his cheek, committing her face to memory one last time.

And then he left.

She couldn't bring herself to watch him go, so she simply sat in her room alone, curled up by the fire. She could hear Oghren's good-natured ribbing as the elf passed into the hall, and then Zevran's sharp replies. Once he had left, she just sat there staring into the hearth, watching the embers slowly collapse into themselves.

Had she made the right decision?


	17. Chapter 17

XVII.

In the days that followed, Aeryn found herself feeling more emotional than usual. She had refused meals on principle, stating to her companions that she felt her appetite soured by the whole ordeal. Much of her time she spent shut up in her room in an almost dysphoric mania, counting the hours and struggling against the urge to destroy all the furniture.

Such destructive urges and behaviors were unlike her; Eleanor had patiently taught her to act the part of a lady of wealth and substance as she grew to womanhood. She had been taught to control her emotions as she controlled her words and even her thoughts. But now those lessons eluded her. She wanted nothing more than to hurl the stupid divan into the fire and watched the patterned upholstery smolder.

Eventually, her anger abated to more manageable levels. And then came the sorrow. There was no sorrow quite like the memory of love and the knowledge that it was gone forever.

She waited and watched the fire, looked for some sign of hope. But there was none to be found, only the crackling of the timber and the roar of the flames. She thought the noise would soothe her weary mind, but she couldn't have been more wrong.

Her eyes focused on Rendon Howe's face. She had half a mind to toss the nearby antique vase at his head, if only to relieve her frustration. But as soon as she heard the knock on her door, she knew she'd found a much better way.

"Who goes?" her voice called out in the silence.

"Warden-Commander," came the familiar baritone, tinged by a tremor of disquiet. "Please, open the door."

"Leave me alone," she muttered without really meaning it.

"My lady, please. Seneschal Varel inquires after your health. What am I to tell him if you won't see me?"

"Tell him I want to be left alone," she growled.

"The others are worried. Anders believes you've turned into an abomination in the time you've been shut up here. Justice thinks you've gone mad…"

In two nimble movements, she was at the door, unlatching it. As she thrust it open, there stood Nathaniel, his dark eyes solemn and shining. The tension escaped his body as soon as he saw her standing there before him, looking—for all intents and purposes—healthy as a horse.

"And what do _you_ think?"

"What does it matter?" he said, almost brusquely. "My thoughts are of no consequence, my lady. All that matters is I have seen you, and you are well."

"Yes, you may tell the seneschal I feel a little better. I may even come down to dinner tonight."

"You mustn't neglect your appetite," he said remonstratively.

It was true. In the time spent traveling Ferelden, she had lost a substantial amount of weight. Not enough to appear sickly, but enough for her companions to have taken notice. She was in no mood to reward her hunger when she felt as though the world around her was beginning to collapse.

"How can I eat when I realize at last that all my premonitions have come true?"

"Do you… wish to speak of it? Or… of _Zevran_?"

He said the name with such contempt that she thought he might pummel the air with his fist.

"I have nothing further to say of him," she said. "That part of my life is over."

"Yet you seem to be clinging to it dearly."

"Please don't press me, Nathaniel. I'm in no mood to humor you."

Just as she turned to close the door, she felt his fingers grip her forearm, the nails just beginning to dig into her flesh. It was an act of possession, one which infuriated her only the more. He should have been punished long ago.

"So you're just going to run away and forget about him and you think he'll forget all about you. Is that it?"

She glowered up at him.

"Unhand me… and force me not to treat you with a severity such uncommon insolence demands."

"No."

"Then my cries will for certain bring speedy aid."

"Not if you can't scream, they won't…"

His hands found her cheeks as he pulled her face to his. She found herself giving herself up to that kiss, felt her whole body melting with it. Her fingers tangled in his mane of dark hair, pulled taut at the back of his head in a half-braid. She felt the prickly softness of his unshaven face against her cheek, the warm sweetness of his tongue probing her mouth. He herded her up against the wall, kissing, touching, and biting every inch of skin he could get his hungry mouth on. Never had she thought herself capable of such passion, such hunger, yet the heat in her loins seemed to suggest otherwise. She found her body responding to his in ways she hadn't anticipated, her insides warming considerably at his touch.

Prematurely, he broke the kiss, his lips still lingering but a breadth from hers.

"Forgive me… I… I shouldn't have done that." He peeled himself off her, giving her a chance to rearrange her clothing as he wove both hands through his hair. "I will try to exercise better control over my actions in the future."

She stepped back, one hand lifting to her lips, which were still slathered in the sweet taste of him. As she looked at him, her confusion was rekindled anew. She wasn't quite sure whether she wanted to smack him or writhe under him in his bed as her body's urges demanded. The indecision was one of a few remaining things that continued to drive her. She felt a renewed sense of purpose knowing that there was something to look forward to at the battle's end.

"Don't apologize to me, Nathaniel." She paused and thought a moment, her mind made up. "Go and tell Varel I will see him presently. There is much that needs to be done. I've only just realized it."

He dipped his head in a bow, exiting the room. As soon as he had gone, a breath of frustration escaped her.

She entered the hall with a sense of purpose, her head held high. Although the room contained no windows and only one door, a clean-scented wind blew through it, reminding Aeryn of the wonderful days and nights she had spent in camp with her companions. There was only a little glimmer of light from the fire that had been kindled in the hearth, and the wind nipped at it vigorously, licking the flames. With any luck, she would be on the road again soon, her days and nights consumed with fighting Darkspawn.

"Warden-Commander!" Seneschal Varel said at her approach, looking somewhat relieved. Beside him, Captain Garevel regarded her fondly. "We were beginning to fear you had taken leave of your senses."

"On the contrary, Seneschal, I've never felt better. Now tell me what news have you of the Darkspawn?"

"Not good, I'm afraid, Commander. Reports are rising from the south that the Darkspawn have laid siege to Amaranthine. If you leave the Vigil, however, there's no telling what havoc they may wreak here, left unchecked."

Despite the fact he was positioned halfway across the room in a quiet crowd that consisted of Anders, Justice, Oghren, Velanna, and Sigrun, Nathaniel walked purposefully toward them.

"What? My sister is in that city! We must go to her at once."

"Stand down, Ser Howe," the seneschal shot. "This is the commander's decision to make."

"I insist my voice me heard," he growled. "My sister is heavy with child. Her husband has pledged his life in service to the crown. They can't simply be left to die!"

"Such a decision lies in the hands of the Maker, Ser Howe," the seneschal said. "If it is His will that they die, they will die. And if not, they won't. But nothing can be done to

His cold eyes looked at Aeryn, all the previous warmth gone from their depths.

As much as he realized the significance of the Keep as his family's base of operations during the Orlesian wars, Nathaniel said, "Commander, I beg of you, do not do this. Amaranthine needs us. My sister needs us."

"If you take the army with you when you leave, the city will be defenseless and incapable of withstanding an attack," Captain Garevel contended. "You must reinforce the Vigil.

"Is one woman's life worth the lives of several hundred others? Think on it, Commander," Varel added.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, Aeryn opened her mouth to speak.

"We're going to Amaranthine. I won't stand by while the Darkspawn obliterate what remains of our forces. The Vigil is well-fortified enough to hold its own should they decide to use the attack as a diversion."

Nathaniel nodded his head as though in thanks, though he said nothing. Seneschal Varel and Captain Garevel mostly looked disgusted with her decision. None of it mattered. No decision she had made had ever sat well with her or given her a sense of calm. There was no reason this should be any different.

"I am forever in your debt, Commander," he said at her shoulder. Together, they matched strides and crossed the room to where the others were standing. Anders had Ser Pounce-a-lot curled up in his arms and was holding the kitten lovingly to his chest. Justice lifted his head serenely, peering out at her from behind large rotted sockets that had fallen into decay. Velanna seemed entranced with Nathaniel, though he no longer paid her any heed or even acknowledged her presence. Sigrun and Oghren stood with weapons ready.

"So… Warden-Commander," the dwarf said, stroking his ginger beard thoughtfully. "Are we off to save the day once again and kick some Darkspawn ass?"

A smile settled on her lips.

"That's the plan, Oghren. And I'm bringing with me the only team I know of who knows how to get the job done stylishly. So don't let me down on this one."

"Nice to have you back. We missed you there for a while."

"It feels good to be back," she said, "And to have a little perspective."

She looked up into Nathaniel's eyes. He was looking at her with concern and dread, and in that moment it felt as though they were alone and the entire room had disappeared.

And then she heard Anders' voice drawing her back into reality quite rudely.

"Just remember… none of what we do in Amaranthine will matter if we get our heads squashed in by Darkspawn first. The thought frightens me. I'm just too pretty to die."

"We're not going to die. Each of us has been given a unique gift to be used in concert with everyone else. Together, we are an unbeatable team. Pity the Darkspawn who try to stand up to us."

"Them's fightin' words, woman, heh!" Oghren screamed. "I like it! Now let's quite wasting time and go crack some skulls!"

"You heard the man," Aeryn said with a smile.

* * *

Aeryn remembered little of that northward journey, excited as she was in both body and mind. High on adrenaline, she kept their procession moving at breakneck speed, stopping little but for a quick rest here and there. The threat of war hung over them like a heavy cloak they longed to cast off. Within the day, they would have their wish; they would engage the Darkspawn in battle in the streets of Amaranthine and proclaim their victory once again.

Velanna's sister would be returned to her. Justice would at last find peace and be rid of his mortal body. Sigrun would return to the Legion of the Dead. Anders would make a successful break with the Circle Tower. Oghren would return to his hard-drinking ways. And Nathaniel... well, she prayed to the Maker he would see his purpose fulfilled and the Howes would be returned to their former glory.

As for herself, she was looking forward to the down-time that being a Grey Warden usually failed to afford.

These thoughts remained foremost in her mind as they made camp that night. The small contingent of soldiers Captain Garevel had granted her were well-disciplined and followed her orders. As they spread out along the grass that night, erecting tent after tent out of minimal resources, Aeryn stood back to watch them work.

"Hey, Commander!" Oghren said, waving a flask of some unidentifiable substance. He sat near a large watchfire that had been built at the center of camp. "Commander, over here!"

Somewhat cautiously, she walked over and sat down beside him. A glass was immediately shoved into her hand despite her protests. After a long while spent traveling with Oghren, she had learned to just go with the flow.

"What are we drinking to?"

"Sod it if I know."

"To victory," she offered.

"By the Stone, woman! Do you ever stop thinking about battle? Fine, to victory!" he said, his speech already slurred even as he raised what she thought was his first glass.

"As long as you promise your pants aren't coming off, I'll have another," she said, lifting her glass to him.

"More? Hah! Get your own damn ale! I already gave you some of mine," he snarled with wicked glee, a malicious glint in his eye.

"Fine, fine. Enjoy drinking by yourself, Oghren."

"I always enjoy drinking by myself."

She found Anders seated by Justice, Velanna, Sigrun, and Ser Pounce-a-lot, who was doing his best to live up to his name by scurrying about in pursuit of a mouse. Meanwhile, Velanna was curling an arm about the apostate mage's shoulder, leaning in to him, disgusted by the sight of the rodent. For someone purported to be well-acquainted with the woods and all their creatures, she was unusually squeamish. Aeryn made mental note of this in the event the woman became a nuisance to her again later on.

"Are you all settled over here?"

"Well, we'd like some pillows and chocolates, and perhaps a nice long massage as well… but I suppose beggars can't be choosers, can they?" Anders questioned. Velanna just laughed like he said the funniest thing in the world, causing the mage to give Aeryn the universal "she really likes me!" thumbs up sign of approval.

"I'll get on that," Aeryn said.

"See that you do, Commander."

"I'll be in my tent if you need me. I think I'm going to call it a night."

"Take care, Commander," they chorused.

* * *

The tent was cramped, just big enough for one person. Aeryn lit a little lamp with a tiny flickering flame to ward off the dank chill seeping in from outside. She unsheathed the small knife she usually kept on her person for protection and shoved it under the pillow by her bedroll. If she was to be on the top of her game tomorrow, an early night's rest would be needed.

She stripped herself of her armor and dressed for bed in a thin white chemise. It felt good to be in feminine clothes again, however impractical they were. She had just gotten into bed when her quasi-sleep was disturbed by the emergence of another.

She heard him before she saw him, which was unusual because he was normally so precise about disguising his step.

His gloved hand parted the canvas draperies at the front tent flap, and he ducked his head slightly when entering. He had a look of utter seriousness on his countenance. His bow and quiver were still slung over her shoulder, as though he'd had no time to shuck them before coming to her.

"Am I disturbing you?"

"Nate…" she sat up and collected her things around her to retain her modesty. "No, of course not. What is it?"

"Will you hear my confession, Warden-Commander?"

"Do you even have to ask me that?" she asked with a grin, standing to her feet as the long skirt of the chemise grazed her bare ankles. "You may speak your mind, Nate. We are not strangers. Say what you will."

As he spoke, he began pacing, his steps heavy and lurching, as though his legs were straining with the effort. The soles of his leather boots made an almost imperceptible hiss against the dirt.

"For too long I have been complicit in my own fate, blinded by ignorance and corrupted by vanity and pride. Well, no longer. When we first met, I was out to prove that my father's name was worth redeeming. Now, I'm not so sure it is… You've made me see a great many things I wanted to ignore. You opened my eyes."

She approached him, her proximity halting him in his footsteps. Her steps brought her closer to him as she rested one hand on his chest, her fingers tracing the breastplate of his armor, exploring the detailing. Eventually her hands found their way up the strong, steady pectoral muscles of his arms and landed on his hollow cheeks. He stared down at her with a longing that was unmistakable.

"Nate… I wanted to hate you for what your father did to my family. I considered you no better than him. And then, somewhere along the line, things changed. I saw you for who you really were… not a monster driven by an insatiable desire to kill. Not a man who was out for blood. But a man who just wanted redemption. For himself and for a man he thought could do no wrong. I must confess… I have feelings for you. I think you already know I've come to care for you very deeply."

"And I you," he said softly, his finger skimming her right cheek. "But when it came down to it, it seemed unwise to pursue the matter further. You're a Cousland. I thought that surely you would never take up with one so reviled as a Howe."

To silence him, she pressed her lips to his, the kiss tender and chaste. She pulled away briefly to look at him deeply in the eyes. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring, whether they would even live to see the day. What mattered was this moment, here, now.

She had finally found her purpose.

"Nathaniel… stay with me here tonight. I'm not asking you this as your commander, but as a woman."

"Is that an order?" he asked with a deviously raised brow.

"Yes."

"Then I will do as my lady commands me," he said, closing the distance between them with lithe speed. He took hold of her chin and pulled it upward to meet his waiting lips.

It felt so good to kiss him without interruption.

Her hands sought the angular planes of his face to pull him closer, deeper into the kiss. As their lips connected, the force of the embrace sent a charge of electricity through every nerve ending in her body. Her thighs ached to have him between them, her body throbbing painfully with the strength of her need for human contact.

As they moved toward her tiny bedroll, they began the agonizingly slow process of undressing. There were so many fastenings, laces, and latches on his armor that Aeryn was suddenly reminded of why Anders spoke so highly of mages' robes. She somehow managed to lift the armor off him in two pieces so that all he wore was a simple chest-bearing linen tunic. Visible just beneath it was the faint outline of his torso—which was surprisingly well-sculpted—athletic thighs, and a tempting trail of hair beneath his belly button.

His fingers began undoing the lacings on the bodice of her chemise, the weight of her full breasts pushing against the thin material, the swollen pink buds leaving no doubt in his mind that she was as excited by him as he was by her. A hand crept through the folds of her unbound chemise to massage one of her breasts as they kissed, falling back onto the bed. Soft moans escaped her lips and then were silenced with a kiss from him as the shadows of guards walking by outside quietly emerged.

"Quiet," he said with one hand on her head, turning her to nip at her earlobe. He paused a moment and took a look back at her. Her perfect pale skin was almost luminescent in the moonlight; she was a goddess among women, Andraste reborn.

He wanted to do this the proper way, to treat her as though she was a goddess instead of bending her over a table somewhere in a bid to relieve weeks of pent-up frustration.

"Nathaniel," she purred, ensnaring his plump lower lip between her teeth. Her voice was heady with desire. "Make love to me."

As she continued nipping him, he kept his one hand tenderly cupping her while the other snaked between her legs, using a single finger to penetrate the velvet folds of her most intimate places. Aeryn moaned into his mouth as his fingers teased the sensitive nub between her legs. Back and forth, back and forth his fingers worked. But before she had found her release, he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her body as he grasped her hips and pulled her hungrily toward his face, the relatively cool night air replaced by his hot mouth. His skilled tongue began to swirl in precise movements, stimulating places she didn't even know existed. She instantly hated herself for the pleasured sound that forced itself from her lips at the contact. Unconsciously, one hand tangled in his hair, using her grip to work his head at a more insistent pace. She looked down and noticed the moisture from her own juices coating the tiny patch of dark hair just beneath his lower lip.

He continued stroking the delicate little nub of flesh, his actions sending fresh quivers through her body. The erotic sensations continued to build as he amplified his efforts, using his tongue more forcefully to elicit stifled cries of pleasure from her. Suddenly, her hips bucked as he hit home, activating a thousand nerve endings at once in a searing pleasure.

As soon as her moans quieted, he was tugging her chemise off over her head, throwing it onto the ground beside them urgently as she helped him out of his tunic. As soon as she had discarded the remainder of his clothing, her long fingers wrapped around his ready flesh and began stroking him to hardness. The touch of her hands on his naked body almost drove him to madness. He was over her in an instant, his body completely covering her as he positioned himself at her entrance.

A cry escaped her lips as he forcefully pushed himself inside of her with one hard thrust. Their bodies fell obediently still. In that moment, she could only hear her breathing, the cries of the soldiers from outside seeming very far away, a separate reality from the one within the tent.

It was then they began to move together.

He pumped into her with short, shallow strokes at first, and then with increasing fervor, encouraged by each pleasured moan from her lips. His athletic thighs clenched around her. Aeryn raised her belly to meet each stabbing thrust, her hands gripping him from behind to help fuel his frenzied movements. As they bucked their hips together in an uncontrollable fit of pleasure, he grabbed her wrists and flung them over her head, pinning her to the bed savagely. Then, driven by the heat of the moment, he took her legs and wrapped them around his middle, using the angle of her hips to thrust as deeply as possible. Each stroke was pain wrapped in pleasure.

Her muscles clenched tightly around him, and he soon spilled inside of her with a grunt of extreme satisfaction as she cried out his name with both hands tangled in his hair. Spent, he collapsed on top of her, limbs still intertwined, her legs tightening to pull him closer. They lay like this for hours afterward, their bodies pressed together and his head resting on her breast as their breathing returned to normal. Her arms encircled him and, for the first time in a long time, she felt safe and warm.

And loved.

She kissed him once and said goodnight as he blew out the lamp.


	18. Chapter 18

VIII.

About an hour before dawn, she was awakened by the sounds of soldiers stirring in the camp. Soft murmurs of speech penetrated the quiet of the night, disrupting her otherwise fitful slumber. As she peered through the folds of the tent, she saw Garevel's men beginning to break camp and pack up their gear. Apart from the occasional shadow cast upon the tent as the soldiers wandered by, they were still alone.

Beside her, Nathaniel was still sleeping, his breaths shallow and pronounced. He had drawn her closer into the crook of his body sometime during the night, and he held her there with both arms around her shoulders. She snuggled into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She was so comfortable that she dared not wake him. A long day awaited them, and she wasn't in any hurry to begin it.

She lay there enjoying their closeness and warmth until he was roused by the sounds of commotion outside. Stretching his weary limbs, his arm encircled her, pulling her to him for a kiss, his unshaven cheek scratching her perfect white skin.

"Morning already?" he muttered into the soft pillow of her hair, relaxing his weight so that he lay weary on her shoulder.

"Nearly."

"I just want to stay here all day."

"I couldn't agree with you more."

Her small warm body burrowed against him as she released a contented sigh. Just as she was beginning to doze off, the acting captain of the small company of soldiers stood outside the tent addressing her.

"Warden-Commander?"

She heard his voice through a fog of semi-wakefulness, pushing herself up to a sitting position, careful to arrange the small blanket around herself so as to cover her nakedness. She had not given the captain permission to enter, but on the off-chance he happened to glimpse her through the folds of the tent, she didn't want to give him fodder for a few good laughs with his men.

"Captain?"

"We are preparing to march on Amaranthine. I wanted to let you know to ready yourself."

"Thank you, Captain. I will."

As soon as she was sure she heard his footsteps pattering away through the damp muddy earth, she snuggled back down in Nathaniel's arms. It felt good to just lie here.

"Mmm… duty calls," he said at length, his eyes still closed.

"So it would seem. I've half a mind to strangle that wretched man."

He moved his mouth over hers, devouring its softness.

"I'd rather you didn't. That _wretched man_ may help us to save Delilah's life."

As their lips parted, he stood and began dressing urgently as the thought of his sister suddenly entered his brain. Delilah and Albert had been at the back of his mind all along, but ever since hearing the news of the attack on Amaranthine, he had worried for their lives. She helped him don his leather armor, her hands working with expert precision with the hard-to-reach fastenings. She tugged on her chemise for the moment just as he slung his bow and quiver over one shoulder.

"I worry for you," she said as she stood and took his face in her hands.

"You needn't, Aeryn."

Her name sounded so good on his lips. She would have him speak it a hundred times just to hear how sweetly he said it.

"But what if you die? What if I die?"

He smiled enigmatically.

"You know, initially I thought you were utterly mad to invite me to join your order. But saving the lives of the people one loves… a man could _die_ for that and feel good about it. I suspect you feel the same."

"I love _you_. And I shall be very cross with you if you choose to die on me now, martyr or no."

"I don't intend to, but should the Maker have other plans…"

"It's not up to Him to govern our lives. Our future is what we make of it."

With a final lingering kiss, he exited the tent, leaving her alone to begin packing her things. Thoughts of the passion they had shared the previous night crept into her brain, causing her blood to pound and her knees to tremble. With shaking hands, she was able to pull on her polished commander's armor and a magnificent plumed helm.

After breaking down her tent, she rejoined her comrades by what remained of the watchfire. Oghren was grinning from ear to ear when she approached, looking very much like the cat who ate the canary.

"So… _rough night_ last night, Commander?" he cackled with a lecherous grin. "Gave you a good tumble, did he? Have to admit, never thought he had it in him. But damn, the man's got my grudging respect."

"Were you _listening_?!"

"Kind of hard not to, heh. You were screaming like a bitch in heat."

She had forgotten how difficult it had been to stifle her pleasured cries in the heat of her passion, and that left no doubt in her mind that all of her companions had overheard their after-hours exertions. Well, there went the need for secrecy.

"I'm not going to make any excuses for it," Aeryn began at last. "What I do on my time is my own business."

"Don't you mean _who_ you do?" Oghren snorted.

"That's enough," she snapped.

"It was rather impressive," Anders admitted as Ser Pounce-a-lot rubbed his head insistently against the apostate mage's leg. "I've never known a woman to scream that loud in my life."

"That's not something you should admit, mage," Oghren shot.

"Think what you will about me, dwarf. But I can assure you I haven't gotten any complaints yet, if you know what I'm saying."

"Still, you might want to take some notes from Howe's little blighter. Seems he knows a thing or two about pleasing the ladies…"

"You two are disgusting," Sigrun said with a cackle. "Will you come off it already?"

The only two who seemed at all disapproving of her amorous display from the previous night were Justice, whose eyes remained stoically upon her face as though to chastise her, and Velanna, who had her arms crossed over her ample chest in a supremely sulky gesture. Aeryn couldn't resist throwing a little self-satisfied smirk her direction. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she could've sworn the elf soured a little more—if that was even possible.

Nathaniel approached with some of the other guards and stood beside Aeryn. He scarcely had time to talk before the dwarf was chortling with glee.

"Heh!" Oghren laughed, slapping Nathaniel on the back. "Good on you, son, for getting the job done."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"Thank you—_I think_—ser dwarf." He turned and looked at Aeryn. "The captain is ready whenever you are. Give the order."

"Come on. We've got a city to save."

* * *

They expected to find Amaranthine little more than a smoldering ruin, but thankfully it looked as though they had arrived before too much damage had been done. The Darkspawn had set fire to the Chantry roof, and the structure blazed in the distance, a black plume of smoke surrounding it like a halo. Villagers were running every which way to escape the danger, some of them having taken refuge in a shack just outside the city. Apart from these scant few running about, the city was eerily silent. At the arrival of Aeryn and her small but formidable contingent of soldiers, the huddled villagers raised a cheer.

A harried-looking Constable Aidan was there to greet them at the city gates. He crossed both arms in a curt bow as she approached.

"Warden-Commander. I am glad you arrived when you did, but I fear there is little that can be done now."

"Constable, what happened?"

"The other night, a swarm of… of gruesome _creatures_ emerged from beneath the city. They spread pestilence and destroyed everything they touched. Then, at dawn, the other Darkspawn attacked."

Nathaniel paled, looking rattled by this knowledge.

"Warden-Commander… it's too late. Amaranthine is lost," the constable informed her.

Aeryn's heart sank. At that moment, she wanted to curse herself for forcing her army to stop and spend the night in the fields instead of marching onward to Amaranthine. In all the decisions she had made as Commander of the Grey, this was by far the worst. Nathaniel looked troubled, as well he should have; there was little chance Delilah and Albert still lived after the morning's slaughter.

In denial, she exclaimed, "The city still stands. It is _not_ yet lost. We will rescue who we can and then douse the fires."

"The buildings might remain, but apart from those you see, there will be few survivors so long after _those creatures_ appeared. Their corruption is so virulent… At least a quarter of the city succumbed within the first day."

Nathaniel still looked as though he had been struck with a sucker punch to the gut. He blanched an ashy white and stood there in a daze of stupefaction.

"Constable!" one of his guards cried. "There is a Darkspawn approaching… alone!"

Aeryn's eyes widened as she recognized the creature. It was the disciple they had encountered on the roads before, the one who had come at the Architect's bidding to deliver them a message. But what was it doing here? Its skin was a little more putrid looking, its steps a little more pronounced. Was it limping? It inched its way toward them as they readied their weapons, Nathaniel aiming his bow straight at the creature's head.

"Archers! Take him down!"

They were all too willing to comply when at last the creature spoke, stating that he had come to deliver them a message from the Architect. In broken language, he indicated the message was for the Grey Warden alone, and looked at Aeryn to drive the point home. After ordering the constable and his men to stand down, she listened to him with interest and without judgment, knowing that although Delilah and Albert perhaps no longer lived, Velanna's sister Seranni was still under the Architect's thrall. What he said could be very important for her survival.

The creature patiently explained that the Mother's army was marching on Vigil's Keep after having finished with Amaranthine. He claimed the Architect had sent him to warn her, to tell her to defend the Keep and then finish the Mother in her lair. The Grey Wardens, he said, were valuable to the Architect—and the Mother knew it. That was why she had sent her forces after them.

Aeryn found it difficult to believe him, but she had no other choice. All other options had been exhausted her.

"If we leave now, we may be able to make it back to the Vigil in time to save it," the constable said after some thought.

"And what about the remaining Darkspawn here?" Garevel's acting captain queried.

"Soon, they will go to Vigil's Keep as well. The Mother, she wants the Keep destroyed utterly!" The Darkspawn's hands flailed in manic gestures as he spoke.

With a grunt, the constable said, "The Darkspawn has a point. We cannot leave with this other army hot on our heels."

"Constable, you said yourself that the city is lost. I say we destroy it, burn it, and all the Darkspawn within."

"I'm not giving up on Amaranthine," Aeryn shouted. She locked eyes meaningfully with Nathaniel, and it became evident that her decision had not been made in objectivity, but under the influence of strong emotions that had overridden the logical part of her brain. "Seneschal Varel and Captain Garevel will be able to hold it in my absence."

"Warden-Commander, we have _already_ lost Amaranthine. We can't lose the Vigil was well. It would be a crippling defeat for our forces."

"If you stay, the Mother will get what she wants!" the blubbering Darkspawn claimed.

"My decision is _final_."

She tried to barter with the creature for Seranni's life, but he was proving to be difficult, so instead she ordered the constable and his men to drag it away and tie it up. That was one less Darkspawn they had to deal with. Thank the Maker.

They parted company with the constable and his men, venturing further into the city. As they walked through the crumbling streets of the once-proud Amaranthine, the loss and destruction of the morning's attack became more apparent. Mangled corpses littered the streets and shell-shocked survivors ran screaming toward the city gates.

"Commander," Nathaniel began tentatively, at a loss for words. "I know that decision was made for my own selfish benefit…"

"It was the right thing to do."

Her response seemed to appease him, though there was still sadness in his eyes.

"It pains me to see fire ravage these streets. To see the places I knew as a boy destroyed by ruthless and savage creatures, her people cast out into the street while others lay dying… My father would be tossing in his grave if he knew what had become of his arling. And his only daughter…"

"Don't worry; we'll find your sister."

"It will take a miracle to save her now."

They soon had arrived at Delilah's house, which had been reduced to a pile of rubble by the fire. With a cry, Nathaniel rushed forth, a sudden burst of strength fueling his actions as he knelt down to lift part of a broken wall off one of the still forms on the ground. As he peeled back the heavy wall, Albert's waxen face greeted him, his eyes bulging from their sockets, nostrils still aflare, body mutilated and decrepit-looking, the limbs completely rearranged in different parts of the house. The sight of his blood everywhere caused a wave of nausea to settle in the pit of his stomach. Despite his disgust at the grisly image, Nathaniel couldn't turn his eyes away.

They had come _too late_.

In quiet reverence, he put his hand on his brother-in-law's chest and let his head bow as he raised a silent prayer to the Maker.

Then suddenly a weak voice said from seemingly nowhere, "Nathaniel… is that you?"

His head flipped around so fast that he nearly lost his balance. He almost wasn't prepared for the sight before him. There, standing in the door frame of a nearby hovel, was Delilah. From head to toe, she was covered in soot and ash, her beautiful features otherwise marred by the large purple bruise that was swelling on her cheek. She had one hand gripping her full belly as she waddled forward into her brother's arms. He gripped her tightly to him and cradled her head.

"Oh, Nate," she wailed, her cries stifled in his leather breastplate. "He's… Albert's…"

"I know," he whispered. "Peace, sister. Peace."

He stroked her dark hair as she sobbed into his chest, her tiny frame racked by heaving convulsions. He just held her close, as he had done when they were children, unable to find anything to say to the inconsolable woman. What could he say to simply wipe away the pain the destruction of the city had wrought over any of their lives? When it came down to it, no answer seemed sufficient.

She only cried desolately, "My Albert… my Albert is dead! They came for us… tortured him… and then I heard his screaming as they dragged him away into our house! Maker's mercy, Nate! They tore him limb from limb!"

"Be still," he said as his face softened. "His suffering is at an end, and he is with the Maker. Better you should pray for him than grieve what you cannot change."

"Oh, Nate," she sobbed. "You're all I have left now."

He gently kissed her head and swept away the tears. At Aeryn's insistence, he ushered her toward the city gates while the others focused on clearing out the last hordes of Darkspawn that remained. It took nearly an hour in total to finish them off; the ogres, in particular, put up a good fight. But not nearly good enough. By the time the sun was setting, the city had been cleansed of their presence.

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, and suddenly the sky was all grey twilight. They returned to the shack at the front of the city gates, which was acting as a makeshift safehouse for the remaining survivors of the Darkspawn attack. She found Nathaniel and Delilah there, as expected.

"We're returning to Vigil's Keep," Aeryn informed them both.

"Much good will it do us; the Keep is almost assuredly overrun," Justice added. "It would be wiser to lodge here for the night."

"Justice is right," Nathaniel said. "And besides, my sister is heavy with child. There is no way she can keep the pace with us, and I'd rather not press her."

Aeryn thought for a moment and then answered.

"I will send her with an armed escort to my brother Fergus in Highever, along with the other survivors. She will be safe there. The castle is well fortified."

"You must be mad to think your brother will agree to shelter her."

"I will send a message with the escort telling him of our situation. Fergus is not a monster. He will find it in his heart to forgive your father his actions, and he will show Delilah every courtesy in the world."

"He had better. If he so much as lays a hand on her…"

A surge of anger rippled through her at the suggestion, but she was able to master it and speak in a calm, even tone of voice.

"My brother is a _good man_. He doesn't act without thinking."

He exhaled.

"I'm sorry, it's just… were I in his position, I suppose I would not fault him for wanting to punish her for what my father has done."

"She will be fine. He will protect her."

"I don't know why, but I believe you."

His hand tightened on her shoulder and she squeezed it in return.

* * *

As they prepared to march that night, Delilah said her goodbyes to her brother and to this place that had meant so much to them during their childhood. As the rogue printed a final kiss on her forehead and the woman trotted away obediently to rejoin the small company of armed soldiers bound for Highever, Aeryn couldn't help but watch the touching scene.

Hopefully one day soon they would be reunited again, as would she and Fergus. She imagined a grand homecoming at Castle Highever, with a feast that rivaled many of the bloated galas Alistair had become so fond of throwing as Ferelden's king. She could envision tables full of food for as far as the eye could see—roast pheasant, pickled herring, pigeon pie, and vegetable pottage. Her mouth watered at the thought of the delicious melding of flavors tingling her taste buds.

Before she could fully indulge such fantasies, however, there was still the Darkspawn threat to be dealt with.

As always.

Delilah wore one of Aeryn's finest traveling cloaks and had braided her hair into a tight chignon at the back of her head. Nathaniel lifted her up into the saddle of one of the guard's mounts and clasped her hand before the escort led her away.

"Be well," he called after her. She gave a happy little wave, although on closer inspection Aeryn thought she could hear her sniffling.

His dark eyes followed her until she was only a tiny dot on the horizon line. After a few more minutes of watching the mount lope away with her on its back, he turned back to Aeryn.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude for all you have done for me."

"You'd have done the same for me."

"I would. But you… you're Commander of the Grey. You sacrificed many lives so my sister would live."

"That may not be the case. Constable Aidan said he received word from a courier that the battle is still in progress. They've lost a lot of men, but they are holding the line. If we can make it there in time, then perhaps we can be of service."

His hand grazed her cheek with the barest of touches.

"You continually amaze me… do you know that?"

Her heart jumped in her chest at the contact.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: Hey, and thanks very much to everyone for reading and reviewing! I just wanted to write a quick note to say the pace of the updates has slowed a little bit due to my being sick and having to get some rest. The story's nearing its conclusion (*sniff* *sniff*), but I had a blast writing it and hope you enjoy the rest.**

* * *

XIX.

The roads were far too quiet for her liking, though she knew that was because many of the merchant travelers who often took these routes had sought protection in the nearby cities. A thick grey fog had rolled in from the coast, minimizing visibility as they marched onward toward the Vigil, the soldiers' steps cushioned by a mixture of wet leaves and muck. The torches that illuminated the dark spaces burned low with a flickering orange glow.

The tension was palpable as anxiety and fear swept through their ranks. Some muttered prayers beneath their breath while others remained focused on their objective, too consumed with thoughts of the impending battle to have even considered the thought that the Maker might even have a hand in it at all.

Aeryn led the solemn procession in a winding tour through the Fereldan countryside. Even her normally talkative companions had fallen silent for what seemed like the first time in a long time. She would much rather they have chattered away mindlessly to pass the time than endure another moment of agonizing silence. She usually liked silence, but not when it was as riddled with tension as this.

Midway through the course of their journey, the acting captain pointed out a small blip of a light coming steadily toward them. Through the fog it ventured, catching every swirling wisp of air until standing there before them was the robed figure of a runner with torch in hand.

"Commander," he greeted Aeryn with a hoarse, breathy voice that seemed tired by the journey. From the looks of the pink color in his cheeks, he had sprinted much of the way in order to intercept them on the roads. "Captain Garevel sends his tidings."

"How is the captain?"

"Alive… though only just. He was wounded in the initial assault and is currently being tended by the physician. The seneschal thinks he'll live, but it's hard to say at this point. He's lost a lot of blood."

"And the Keep?"

"Safe… for the time being. Though you must hurry if it is to remain that way." He paused. "The seneschal also wanted me to inform you a Darkspawn presence has been detected to the northwest of the Vigil. He believes that is where they are originating from… in the place they call the Dragonbone Wastes."

A shiver ran down her spine at the mere mention of the name. It was a place spoken of only in whispers, a place they said was cursed… a harsh and wild land where it was said dragons went to die. To imagine that forbidding land as the lair of the Darkspawn wasn't too difficult. But to imagine them actually traveling there… the thought turned the blood in her veins to ice.

"Perhaps if we can head them off at the pass, we will be able to turn the tide of battle," Aeryn suggested.

"The Vigil will fall without more soldiers to reinforce her," the courier said. "The seneschal has asked you send the captain's company of soldiers back and proceed—alone—on foot toward Drake's Fall."

"Alone? That's a bloody _suicide_ mission! I didn't sign up for this!" Oghren roared.

"I volunteer," Anders said with a hand raised. "There's nothing quite like a bit of old-fashioned heroism to bring a swooning lot of women to their knees."

"Knees? You'd be lucky to even have your stones intact after marching in there," Oghren commented.

"This coming from a 'fearless' slayer of Archdemons. Tell me again, ser dwarf, how exactly it was a person of your—_stature_—was able to defeat such a fearsome beast. Or did you wet yourself in fright while your companions did most of the heavy lifting?"

"Why, you sodding, fruity little skirt-wearing nug hump—"

"Quiet, both of you! The commander needs to think," Nathaniel snapped in admonishment. There was no mistaking the annoyance in his voice as he turned to look at his lover alongside him. Her brow was wrinkled in deep thought, the blue plume of her helmet snapping in the wind. "Now then, what'll it be?"

"We're going to Drake's Fall. It's our only chance to defeat them on their own ground. Captain, take these men on to Vigil's Keep. As soon as we're finished—assuming we succeed—we will rejoin you there."

The captain inclined his head. "Yes, Commander, May the Maker's blessings be upon you."

"And you."

Off they went into the darkness, an entire army of foot soldiers, bowmen, and swordsmen following after the courier until the mist swirled over their retreating forms and the hundreds of little torches were ferried away. And then they were alone, with only a mesmerizing blanket of stars to guide them.

It was a harsh journey. Driven by urgency, Aeryn pushed their pace to punishing levels. They climbed high into the mountains until they came to a graveyard of skeletal remains. The mammoth skull of a dragon stood guard at the entrance to Drake's Fall, its spine coiled about the base of a mountain as though it had only recently slithered to its death here. They slogged through mud and puddles until they came upon a restless horde guarding the entrance to the chasm-like nest.

With a cry, they charged forth at full speed, engaging the creatures in a clash of fury.

Aeryn's swords raised in the air as the Darkspawn charged her, knocking her off her feet. As her breath momentarily lodged in her throat, she swung out of the way just in time to avoid being cleaved by a pike. As the twisted-face monster struggled to dislodge the weapon from the earth, Aeryn swung to her feet, using the hardened sole of her boot to kick him backward before administering the final blow. With both hands firmly grasping the hilts of her dual swords, she buried both weapons in the breast of the creature, watch as it stumbled, squealing, backward and onto its knees. Then, with two quick flicks of the wrist, she used her blades to topple its head from its shoulders. It rolled away with a sickening thud.

Her head flipped about automatically, surveying each of her friends. Beside her, Oghren was ruthlessly swinging his axe in broad arcs. On the other side of the large chasm, Justice, Sigrun, and Velanna had teamed up against their foes. To her left, the mage, Anders, was embroiled in a battle against two Darkspawn. Aeryn watched his graceful form build up a tempo as he used his staff to fling bursts of snow and fire in their direction. His enemies, however, were relentless. Rushing forward, Aeryn buried her sword to the hilt in the back of the lurking monster, allowing Anders the chance to refocus his attention on the one remaining Darkspawn. As his staff drew upward toward the sky, a glint of light flowed down and through him, exploding in a volley of fire that encompassed the monster.

As the dust settled, Aeryn locked eyes with the mage. Though he said nothing—which in itself was unusual for him—the slight dip of his head indicated he was indeed grateful Aeryn had intervened when she had, foiling the attack.

And then she fell.

An unknown hand cuffed her on the head from behind, sending her flying to the ground like a limp marionette. When she came to a few seconds later, she saw the sleek contours of Nathaniel's war-hardened body standing overhead, pointed an arrow menacingly in the direction of one of the Darkspawn. As the creature sneered in disgust, Nathaniel showed no mercy. It was a quick, clean death. With one boot, he viciously kicked the corpse backward.

"Thanks," she whispered huskily as he reached out one gloved hand to pull her to her feet.

"Try to be more careful, Commander."

Before she could respond, Nathaniel had rushed off to rejoin the fight. The ground below them shook, sending forceful tremors flitting through the ground. From out of the mist, an ogre rumbled forward, reaching out with a clawed hand in the direction of the rogue.

"Nate!" Aeryn screamed, though her voice came out as a whisper amid all the sounds of fighting.

Ever perceptive, Nathaniel seemed to have sensed the threat before it made itself known. His discerning brown eyes turned in an alarmed fashion toward the approaching ogre. As he put more force behind each step, using his forward momentum to propel himself away the creature, time itself seemed to slow to a crawl.

Aeryn watched in terror as the writhing hand reached down and plucked the rogue from his feet like a child's toy. As Nathaniel's legs dangled helplessly about, her face betrayed her horror.

_Maker's breath… he's going to get himself killed__!_

With desperation, she focused her gaze upon Anders, who gripped his staff in the middle and sent enough force the creature's way to knock it off its feet. As the ogre fell, Nathaniel was released from his temporary prison. He sailed through the air at breakneck speed, colliding with one of the nearby rocks before crumpling into a lifeless heap. His dark head lolled back, and there was no sign he was breathing.

"Go to him," Justice told Aeryn, who wasn't about to argue. She ran to his side, taking his limp head in both palms to cradle it against her. His pulse was faint and weak, but he lived.

It was the others she was concerned about. They were vastly outnumbered. Darkspawn were advancing on them from every side. Defeat was inevitable.

_We can only hold them off a little longer…_

She fought to control the rising tides of panic. Her life flashed before her eyes in that split second, a life—_it seemed_—that was not her own. She saw herself through the eyes of a spectator, detached yet intimately familiar with the images that played through her mind. She saw the faces of those she had loved and those she had lost, and felt the bitter agony of defeat. She had always assumed she would die a noble death in the Deep Roads, as had many Grey Wardens before her. Never had she pictured it thus. Such an ignoble end for one of Ferelden's greatest heroes.

The irony was almost funny. An inexplicable urge to laugh hysterically gripped her.

As though on cue, the tide of the battle turned once again to their favor, allowing them to annihilate the remaining Darkspawn. As the dust settled around the temporary battlefield, Velanna and Anders rushed forward to crowd around Aeryn.

"Is he all right?" the elf asked with a definite note of concern.

"Hopefully the most he'll suffer when he wakes up is a splitting headache," Aeryn informed her. "He was lucky. Not many are fortunate to escape from an ogre and live to tell the tale. No thanks to Anders…"

Looking smug, the mage shrugged off the compliment. "It was but a small demonstration of my _awesomeness_. Look at me… I hardly broke a sweat!"

At the sound of their voices, Nathaniel's eyelids fluttered open. Through a fog of pain, he managed to push himself up to a sitting position.

"Either I've had too much ale and this is all a bad dream or I was unconscious…"

She helped hoist him to his feet, her hands lingering on his for a moment as she surveyed him. He had a few scrapes and bruises here and there, but thankfully nothing too serious.

"Are you all right?"

"Never better," he said with a wince, gripping his side a little, which had been bruised by the fall. "Let's get a move on if we are to finish this."

In the bowels of the below-grounds lair they were intercepted once again by the Architect, a sentient creature with misshapen features and emaciated flesh. He made them a tempting offer—join forces against the Mother—but at his reluctance to hand over Seranni, the elf woman held in his thrall, he was mercilessly dispatched. It was a brief fight, over before it even began, and when the dust had settled, Velanna took her sister in her arms and hugged her. The elf woman was dazed but otherwise unharmed. She accompanied them the rest of the way to the nest, where the Mother dwelled.

The grotesque behemoth sat patiently awaiting their arrival on her mighty throne of rock and bone. Scaled tentacles swirled around them, whacking them off balance with brute force. Once they had regained their footing, they approached and engaged her in battle. Sending manic swings their way, she screeched that the Architect had been the one to blame for the awakening of the Archdemon in the last Blight—the one Aeryn had slain.

Her words had no effect on the Grey Warden's determination. She launched her body into acrobatic maneuvers as she dispensed with tentacle after tentacle. With a final bounding leap, she cried out and plunged her swords into the head of the creature, screaming as she dragged the blades downward, hell-bent on destroying absolutely everything in her path. Ribbons of red followed the paths she wove, and the huge, hulking mass of flesh slumped forward with a resounding shudder.

With the Mother dead at last, the Darkspawn would plague them no longer.

A flood of relief filled her face as the tension dripped from her limbs. Nathaniel's arm surrounded her as he pulled her jubilantly to him. He winced a little as her body made contact with his bruised side, the pain causing a ragged smile to play on his lips as he struggled to retain a strong façade.

Their joy was short-lived, however, as the thought of Vigil's Keep stole into her mind. Suddenly she said, "We must make haste; the seneschal needs us now."


	20. Chapter 20

XX.

Vigil's Keep had suffered heavy damages. Soldiers fluttered back and forth in mad confusion as the wounded were carted away to receive treatment. Most of the fires had already been contained except for a few in the outlying peasant cottages. The gate separating the tiny pasture from the main courtyard had burned through entirely. Though they appeared impregnable, the sturdy walls of the Keep had not been built to withstand such a battering.

Had they been expecting a royal welcome on their return, they would have been sorely disappointed. What met them instead was an unforeseen toll of death and destruction.

They moved through the outer gates, which were open and guarded only by a few who had no wish to comb for survivors. Intuition led Aeryn toward the market stalls, where she saw the seneschal hovering over Captain Garevel, who had been laid low with a grievous wound. The man had been stripped of his armor and dressed in a thin shift that allowed the physician to work on him easily. He was awake, but only semi-conscious of his surroundings. Across the courtyard, their eyes met in welcome.

"Warden-Commander!" Varel said in greeting, rushing from the captain's side to go and greet her. "It is good to see you still alive."

"And you. How is he?"

"Better, but he's still not past the worst of it."

"If he can be moved, have the physician bring him to my room and treat him there. Bring any of the others who are sick and wounded as well. I won't have them lying out like dogs in the street."

"Yes, my lady."

The sky was pale in the east, a few pinkish-blue streaks just beginning to herald the sunrise. Soon dawn would come, and then the glimmers of light would reveal the full extent of the damages the Keep had sustained over the course of a night. There would be repairs and restorations needed to make the structure inhabitable again. Aeryn's heart hung heavy at the thought of all the work that lay ahead of her.

She was suddenly very tired. She could have lain down right then and there and slept for a month straight.

She had to lean heavily on the arm of Nathaniel as he helped her into the main room of the Keep, supporting her balance with his own weight. The smell of fire tickled her nostrils as she propped her back up against one of the columns, throwing down her pack full of personal effects.

"You should rest," Nathaniel said softly, an arm still braced around her slender waist. "You look exhausted."

"How can I even begin to think about sleeping when there's so much to do?"

"Put it from your mind until tomorrow at least. You've earned yourself a well-deserved nap. Let me help you upstairs."

"Not unless you're planning on joining me," she teased.

That seemed to pique his interest, as one black brow arched in response.

"Are you inviting me into your quarters, my lady?"

"Would it be terribly improper of me if I said yes?" she asked, leaning forward until her warm breath danced across the skin of his cheek. He breathed in deeply, completely consumed by the heady scent of her.

"I would be disappointed if you didn't."

He helped her up the staircase and into the only unoccupied room not filled with soldiers or wounded townsfolk. As soon as the door shut, their mouths were upon each other, alternating between hungry and tender kisses as they clambered for the bed. Covers were tossed aside in their haste to express themselves physically. She already had his battered old breastplate and armor off by the time their kisses grew more subdued. As her exhaustion overtook her, they relaxed in bed against the pillow, him gripping her to the hard lines of his body from behind, one arm snaking over her shoulders to hold her in place.

It was in his embrace that she found the sweet respite of sleep.

Hours later, she awoke to find him gone. Before leaving, he had arranged the blankets around her, and a fire was going in the hearth. The warmth from the flames licked her face as she lay there, immobile and barely able to lift her head. On the bedside table he had arranged a plate of food. Summoning the strength to sit up in bed, she smiled as she was reminded of the first morning she had brought him breakfast from the larder. He'd at last had the opportunity to return the favor.

How thoughtful of him.

She picked at a piece of new-baked barley bread, sopping it up in gravy from the meat dish before devouring it, realizing for the first time just how hungry she was. The food hit the spot. Once she had finished her portions, she wiped her hands tidily to rid them of the crumbs.

Just as she was rearranging the empty bowls on the table, the door opened and Nathaniel entered.

"You're awake. I thought you'd never rise."

"How long was I asleep?"

"Almost half the day."

"Maker's breath!" she cried, throwing her legs over the side of the bed as he sat down beside her. "Where is everybody?"

"In the hall, waiting for you. Get dressed and come downstairs. Seneschal Varel wants to have a word with you."

"Uh oh. Good or bad news?"

"That depends. Just get dressed."

His lips brushed her brow gently as he got up from the bed, the mattress creaking from the shifting of his weight. He left her alone to rummage through the giant gilded wardrobe at the far corner of the room, which was filled with some of the previous Arlessa's clothes. Years had reduced many of the gowns to moth-eaten tatters, while some still remained remarkably well preserved after all this time. She eventually settled on a simple blue frock without much adornment. Nathaniel had given no indication this was to be an occasion to dress up, but she still wanted to look nice after weeks of wearing the same old pair of armor over and over again.

She pulled the fabric over her head and wiggled into the rather narrow bodice, her ample chest constrained by the angular cut of the dress. She supposed Nathaniel's mother had worn this particular dress before becoming pregnant with the first of her three children, when her body was still slender and firm. The other dress of hers—the ravishing red one—had fit her curves much nicer and looked far more flattering.

Still, she didn't have the luxury of time to turn her search for suitable clothes into a spur-of-the-moment fashion show. She laced up the back and slipped her feet into a pair of warm boots before venturing downstairs.

The dress drew its fair share of stares even with how simple it was. Oghren, in particular, seemed focused on one—no, _two_—of her assets, which were put on proud display. Aeryn paid no attention, focused as she was on trying to read the seneschal's expression. She couldn't decide if he looked troubled or happy.

"Warden-Commander," he said by way of greeting. "It seems we finally have things under control."

"I am glad to hear that," she admitted. "For a while there, I was worried."

"The captain is doing much better, and the wounded are being given the best treatment possible. We are taking every possible precaution to ensure their survival."

"It is going to take a lot of rebuilding to restore the Keep."

"Yes. Fortunately we have good relationships with many of the town's artisans and builders—the stonecutters and the masons and the carpenters. Each has an important task ahead of him. We shall try to provide for them as they go about making the necessary repairs."

"See that you do. Any materials they may need, they shall have."

"Yes, it has all been arranged already. Which leaves me at the liberty to discuss much more pleasant topics."

"Such as?"

Varel clasped both arms behind his back as he paced the room.

"King Alistair has planned a grand feast in your honor in Denerim. All the high court is to attend; it will be a splendid gala! You and your companions are to be recognized for your part in helping defeat the Darkspawn and secure the Keep and Amaranthine."

Aeryn's brow wrinkled in a frown of displeasure.

"I'd rather he didn't. You know how these things are; bloated, overlong, back-slapping affairs. I hate being made a public spectacle of."

"Have you no pride in your accomplishments?"

"Of course I do. It's just… I know he means well, but with so many deaths, it hardly seems an appropriate occasion for laughter and drinking and merriment."

"It is the king's way of honoring the fallen for their sacrifice."

"I just wish there was some other way to do it that didn't involve donning a pair of teensy shoes to impress everyone."

A smile quirked the mouth of Varel as he resisted the urge to snort.

"Ah, the sacrifices we must make."

"Indeed."

Aeryn practically flinched at the thought of another boring feast, but it would be good to see Alistair again after all that had happened.

* * *

The golden banner of King Alistair Theirin hung from every lintel and balustrade in the main hall of the great throne room. Magnificent tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, leaving barely any surface area untouched. Massive stone pillars marched the hall's length like a line of soldiers, supporting the vaulted ceiling that arched overhead. The long wooden tables were filled with shouting, rowdy men deeply ensconced in a drinking contest. Although the room was neat and tidy, with no shortage of amenities, there was something strangely stifling about it. It lacked the warmth of the Vigil, the comfort of Highever. Everything here was designed for show, and not functionality.

Perhaps that was why she was dreading the whole bloody event.

Walking into those royal halls, Aeryn felt more nervous than she ever had in her life. She had donned her best brocaded silk gown for the occasion, a crisp blue ensemble accented with silver and inlaid with semi-precious stones beneath the bustline. Her finger was once again bare, as she'd safely tucked away Zevran's earring in a little memento box in her room. She'd even suffered the touch of a royal hair artisan for a full two hours in order to tame her wayward tresses into one sophisticated plait.

She was not alone in her suffering, either; on their arrival, Alistair had instantly seized upon them all with such determination that they'd been forced to yield to his demands and undergo personal make-overs. The result was an experiment gone horribly awry—with Oghren forced to stuff his considerable girth into "clown pants," Sigrun bundled up in an ill-fitting gown like a length of sausage, and Anders being partially strangled to death by the high collar of his "stylish" new robes.

Fortunately Justice, Velanna, Seranni, and Nathaniel had been spared the humiliation. Unfortunately for the others, their resounding complaints were met with good humor by the king, who insisted that they'd simply been gone from court so long that they'd become unaccustomed to the styles favored by the nobles.

_How very typical of Alistair to pass it off as a joke_, Aeryn though with irritation.

She felt hungry just looking at the spread of food that lay before her. The table resembled a veritable battlefield of tankards, platters, crockery, and trenchers. She helped herself to some of the food and began eating as she observed her surroundings.

The throne room echoed with the sounds of mirth and revelry. The hall was thronged with Alistair's entourage, soldiers, and castle servants, while everyone else watched in perverse fascination as Anders tried to drink Oghren under the table on a barrel of pickle juice. Not surprisingly, Anders lost—his humiliation made all the more complete by the constant jeers flung at him for his hideously ruffled collar. After a loud curse that he was going off to rip the damn thing from his neck—and a rather dramatic exit—Oghren loudly belched and took another swallow of the murky green substance, proclaiming himself victor.

In the middle of the festivities, Alistair—who at the moment hardly seemed capable of a slur-free speech—stood to raise his glass in a toast. He wore the majestic golden armor of his brother, the former King Cailan, which had been embossed with the face of a dragon not unlike the ones she had battled during the last Blight. With a tentative clearing of his throat, he managed to garner everyone's attention. Even after months of being king, he was still shy about his duties.

"My friends, before me you see a Grey Warden who is unparalleled in courage and heroism, one who—months ago—would have given her very life to destroy the Blight. Without her help—and that of her companions—this country would have fallen to its knees. We truly couldn't have asked for anyone finer to protect us… I consider it a great honor and privilege to call her a friend. Please, join me in raising your glasses in a toast."

He slipped his hand around his golden wine cup and raised it up.

"To the Grey Warden who saved Ferelden," he said levelly.

A hundred silver cups raised in her direction, crashing together with a great ruckus.

"To the Grey Warden!" came the drunken chorus.

After the toast, Alistair returned to his seat and Aeryn drank several cups of wine and pushed her food around her plate, too light-headed to really concentrate on eating much of it at all. Beside her, Nathaniel sat wearing cinched black robes embroidered with swirling shapes of red and gold in the cuffs. He ate sparingly of one or two courses, barely touching the food on his plate.

Only one question remained. Now that the others were suitably occupied, it seemed as good a time as any to ask him.

"So what are your plans once all this pageantry is over with?" Aeryn queried. He had been unusually silent for much of the meal. She had to wonder whether he was contemplating these things himself. "Are you planning on returning to the Free Marches?"

"It is not a place I have a desire to return to. It is wild and savage."

"Will you stay on at Vigil's Keep? There is much rebuilding to be done, and I'm sure we can use all the help we can get…"

"Is that an invitation, Arlessa?"

"Do you really need one? Amaranthine was your home as a child. I do not wish to take it from you. You said yourself that you had nothing when you returned home. No money, no family—nothing but the clothes on your back."

"Amaranthine is no longer mine to go home to. It falls under your rule now, my lady. I have since come to terms with that."

"But if you were to stay on with me…"

He took the goblet and sipped at the frothy brew with a slight quirk of the mouth.

"Then people would begin to talk, my dear. I would become known as the Arlessa's lover—not exactly a position of honor for one such as myself, who is ostensibly trying to restore his family's good name."

"Well, what if we were to rectify that… with something a little more permanent?" she said, hoping against hope she hadn't come off sounding too forward.

Nathaniel froze, and she thought she could read his expression clearly: _fear_. Cold, stark fear.

She had seen an expression of that caliber only once before… on her own face, in a mirror, when she learned what her father and mother were planning for her at the young age of ten.

Her father and Rendon Howe had once hoped to draw up a marriage contract between her and Thomas when they were children. There had been no feelings at first; and then, when she reached her teenaged years and blossomed into a young woman, the first stirrings of love had stricken her dumb. She remembered the first kiss he'd given her in the courtyard of Highever on a social visit one time with his father. It had been sloppy and wet, their noses not quite knowing how to line up just right, their lips a little too petulant despite the ever-so-insistent shoving of their tongues into each other's mouths. Despite the awkwardness of the kiss, she had believed herself madly in love with him.

…Until Alston had come along. And then Edward. And then Godfrey. And then Dairren. Her life had been an endless string of short-lived, obsessive flings marked by intense chemistry and an equally intense flightiness. Zevran had been her first relationship, and she had hopelessly bungled that. Nathaniel was something real, something she could hold on to and cherish for a lifetime.

She had not really been affected by his brother Thomas' death until that one memory of the sweet kiss they'd shared entered her mind. To find herself sitting here fielding—no, offering—a marriage proposal to his brother seemed incredibly ironic, to say the least. They had hardly noticed each other in their adolescent years. He had been away so much that they'd never really had a chance to foster a proper relationship before his return from the Free Marches. She had hardly recognized him that night when he had first come to her room with the intention to kill her.

And this was the man she wanted to marry? What _would_ her mother say? Oh, Eleanor would have railed against her for her choice of suitor, for being so selfish and putting her own heart's desires above the welfare of her family. She couldn't see her mother liking Nathaniel at all. He was far too dark and brooding for her uppity tastes.

It had been a stupid thought, after all.

"Forgive me," she said, gauging his reaction, "I spoke out of turn."

"It is an interesting thought. It seems a suitable enough match. We are both from well-bred families. Though my family name has been dragged through the mud so publicly, I wonder at you even wanting to take it as your own… Have you no objections?"

"None whatsoever."

He appeared to be mulling the prospect over some more as his eyes darted about the hall, never landing on any one thing.

"We would produce good, sturdy stock as well. The Howes and Couslands are both cut from the same cloth. Which, I think, is part of the reason father was so keen on you and Thomas marrying."

"But bearing children… that… may not be possible…"

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. It was the one part about being a Grey Warden she had neglected to tell him—well, apart from that pesky only having thirty years to live bit. That was a conversation to be had for another time.

"I mean that it's difficult—if not impossible—for two Grey Wardens to conceive a child together. The Darkspawn blood in your veins dilutes the potency of the seed."

"And... you were waiting all this time to tell me this?"

"It's not exactly a topic one broaches on a daily basis. There was never a good time."

"So you're telling me my father's line dies with me."

He sounded as though it were a terrible disgrace.

"That's not necessarily true. The son Delilah bears will carry the Howe name. And should he have sons, so will they. And there is a very slim chance a child may yet be produced from our… _union_."

"My grandfather was a Grey Warden, though he came to the order late, well after he had sired legitimate male heirs. Would that I had done the same."

She couldn't really blame him for not wanting to hitch his wagon to a falling star. Part of his chance at redemption was in raising a son who was able to continue the work he had started—making amends for every wrong his father Rendon had ever committed that night during his ill-begotten attack on the Couslands. Without an enduring legacy, there was nothing of value for him to leave behind.

"I should never have mentioned it."

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow.

"No... no, I'm glad you did. It's not as though the idea hasn't crossed my mind once or twice in our time together. In some strange way, it makes sense for us to marry. I mean… if you are willing… and would have me."

Aeryn giggled.

"I didn't hear you ask the question. Don't you usually have to get down on one knee to do it?"

"And make a spectacle of myself in front of the whole company? Are you mad?"

She playfully punched his shoulder.

"Come on, Nate."

Biting back his pride, he slipped out of his chair and onto the ground before her, his hand seeking out her soft, supple fingers as he gazed deep into her eyes, so deep it made her shiver. She returned his gaze with the same intensity.

"Please do me the honor of becoming my wife."

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" She paused and smiled. "Of course I will."

He sat up and held her hand with a squeeze, almost as if he were purposely holding back. At that moment she wanted to draw his face to hers for a kiss. The hall was crowded, however, and she knew it was likely that once they started to enjoy the pleasures they could share together, they would not be able to stop, no matter where they were. Later. There would be time enough later for him to come to her bed.

But for now, she contented herself with the thought of a new little secret she would have to work very hard to hide from her companions.

_Lady Aeryn Howe_. She liked the sound of that. Yes, it rolled off the tongue quite nicely.


	21. Chapter 21

XXI.

By the time she climbed the stairs to bed, there was not a single reveler left in the great hall. Most of them had shuffled off to continue drinking in the streets outside, leaving the drafty room a mess, with furniture upended and broken, tapestries all askew, and the floor littered with garbage. As the servants were cleaning up and putting everything away in its proper place, Alistair announced to no one in particular that he was off to bed and then managed to intercept her on her way up the stairs. Nathaniel had already gone up separately in an attempt to exercise discretion—so their midnight tryst would not draw too much attention from the others.

She was eager for sleep and not feeling very chatty. Alistair, however, seemed livened by drink and in a giddy mood. His short, scruffy red-blonde hair was bunched up at odd angles, and sleepy bags highlighted the hollows beneath his boyish blue eyes.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd wager Oghren spiked the punch. I feel slightly more drunk than usual."

"I don't know about spiking it, but I saw him lifting his leg over it earlier—"

"Oh, ew! Ew. I _so_ did not need that image in my head, thank you very much."

Aeryn smiled and shouldered him as they matched strides, continuing the long walk up the circular staircase.

"So how are you, your majesty?"

"Oh, please don't call me that. It makes me feel so stuffy and proper, and I'm really neither. Just Alistair will do."

"As you wish. That was a nice speech you made about me, Just Alistair. I think I was blushing a little at the end there."

"The famed Grey Warden _blushing_? Maker forbid! Not after all the things you and Zevran got up to at camp back in the good old days…"

She smiled again. It was so nice to see him. He had always silently harbored a crush on her, but she had never wanted to nurture it and give him false hope. They were better off as friends anyway.

"Speaking of which, how is the bastard? Keeping busy, I expect, with his wanton ways?"

"I wouldn't know. We recently parted ways."

"Oh, er… sorry I asked."

"Don't be. I've put the past behind me and am looking forward to good things in the future."

"Such as?"

"Andraste's blood, Alistair, you're nosy! Always with the questions!"

"What's the matter with me wanting to know a little bit about what one of my favorite former traveling companions is up to these days, hmm?" His face fell as she fixed him with a glare. "Oh, sod it. You see right through me with those damn eyes of yours, you know. It's dreadfully boring at court, and you should hear what passes for gossip around here! So punish me if you want for hoping to live vicariously through you, oh adventurous one."

"Well …"

"_Come on_, your secrets are safe with me. However _sordid_ they may be."

He flashed that boyish smile of his—_damn him!_ Alistair always knew that no matter the situation, he could resort to acting adorable and immediately get her to tongue to wag about whatever it was he wanted to hear. That was how he had first learned of her and Zevran, innocent as he was to the nature of the night sounds that had been emanating from within her tent.

"Have you another lover—is _that_ it?"

"Well… yes… and no."

"Oh, now you're just being evasive," he said with a devious glint in his eye. "You wicked, wicked woman."

She smiled.

"Am I?"

"You _know_ you are. Oh, and the whole innocent act—I'm _so_ not buying it. I'm onto you."

"Well, if the jig is indeed up, then I guess there's no harm in me coming right out and saying it. Nathaniel Howe and I are… well, _involved_."

"Wow, _awkward_. Didn't his father—?"

"Yes."

"And didn't you—?"

"Yes."

"Wow. I'd absolutely _kill_ to be a fly on the wall for some of those conversations."

She chuckled and looped an arm through his when he offered it.

"We have more in common than you think. Our families used to be very close when we were younger."

"Ah, yes, back when you used to not bicker and argue about who killed who…"

"Oh, Alistair, please."

"I just don't see how you two could have anything remotely in common."

She shifted uncomfortably under his accusatory stare. It was clear, as her friend, he wanted her to explain herself to him. Thank the Maker she hadn't mentioned the part about how she and Nathaniel had initially met. That might have elicited a more of a reaction than a simple raised eyebrow.

"We've managed to move past things. He is nothing like his father once you get to know him."

"Right. And I'm the empress of Orlais!" he said flamboyantly, waving his hands in a whirling gesture.

"I'm serious. He makes me happy."

"I... I suppose that's all that matters."

"It is. So stop worrying about me already, will you?"

"Only if you ask nicely."

She suspected his concern stemmed from some hidden desire to have her arrive at court only to find out she was otherwise unattached. As the unmarried king of Ferelden, Alistair was a very good catch, but he had never really shown any remote interest in the suitable ladies of his court. In fact, his thoughts always seemed to be focused on her. She could sense he had really been putting his feelers out when he had brought up the topic of Zevran; his chest had snagged slightly as the elf's name left his lips, as though he'd rethought his strategy midway through asking her.

Perhaps, had circumstances been different, had she and Zevran never met… things would have been different between them. But she was glad to call him a friend.

They came to the first fork in the corridor and said their goodbyes, Alistair peeling to the left where the royal chambers were, and Aeryn turning off toward the right. She walked through the corridor and into her quarters for the evening, where Nathaniel was already awaiting her.

She found him stretching his muscular form beside the fire. She watched his distinctive profile in silhouette, the nose that just barely straddled the line between aristocratic and hooked, the sharp jaw he kept thrust forward out of habit, the soft waves of the hair he had gathered at the back of his head. His head turned softly at the intrusion, eyes focusing on her face as a thoughtful palm traced his cheek and he watched her.

"If it isn't my wife-to-be. I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

She bolted the door shut and began taking off her earrings, turning her back to him so that he could assist her with her laces. His hands deftly undid the cords as she spoke, peeling her gown off to reveal tantalizingly milky white flesh encased in a shamefully modest chemise. She smelled so sweet that he thought he might die from the simple pleasure of holding her.

"I was ambushed by the king on my way here. Fortunately, I was able to escape with my life," she teased.

"So I shall have you all to myself now?"

"Yes, I am yours for the rest of the night. You may do whatever you want with me."

"I have a few things in mind…"

His lips brushed the back of her neck as he helped undo the clasp of the pendant that hung at her throat. Using his teeth, he teased the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck with affectionate little nips. She felt his free hand encircle her breast before ever so gently parting the folds of her chemise to tease one of her nipples with his thumb. She felt a soft whisper of flame there, against her flesh, as his hand worked up a more insistent pace. A small moan escaped her lips as she arched her back to him, a hand tangling unconsciously in his hair. Encouraged by the sound, he redoubled his efforts, tongue caressing silky taut skin as he continued his conquest of her body.

He breathed in her feminine scent, so profoundly, excitingly sensual. His hands moved from her breasts down to the swell of her hips, fingers dipping deep into her flesh as he gripped her there. She could feel his erection pressed between them, hard and pulsing in reply to every slight move she made.

"Those noises you make drive me mad with desire."

"Are you going to take me or not?" she demanded breathlessly.

Without saying a word, he spun her about and locked both hands under her knees, pulling her up and into his arms. She could see now that he'd had one drink too many as he walked with her in his arms to the wall at the opposite end of the room and hiked her up against it, a knee wedged between her thighs, thrusting the thin skirt of the chemise obligingly out of the way.

His tongue slid into her mouth, taking it in long, possessive strokes. Meanwhile, his hands were undoing the fastenings of his armor as fast as physically possible. With a single thrust he buried himself inside of her as hard as he could, hips bucking in and out again and again. His body was rough and demanding, as though had had not known the touch of a woman in years. She supposed the wine was to blame for that, as it was for her own pleasured responses to him. His muscular thighs tightened and relaxed underneath her, and she used his motions to drive him deeper with every push. She moaned against him as their bodies collided with brutal savagery, the pleasure ripping a tortured cry from her throat.

Breathing almost simultaneously, they kissed with passion and fire, Nathaniel's strokes slowly losing speed as he spilled deep inside of her with an almost pained grunt. She twisted her hand in his hair and cried out his name with utter satisfaction. After a few moments, he lifted her down from the wall, allowing her the chance to disentangle herself from him. She took his hand and led him toward the bed because he barely had strength enough to stand. As he sat there waiting, she helped divest him of his remaining accoutrements, her hands neatly folding the clothing in a little bundle on the nearby chair.

Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her near, their sweat-glistened bodies curling in to one another. Her head settled on his chest with a sigh. His skin was warm and partially bedewed with perspiration, his hair damp and matted to his head. A smug smile played upon his upturned lips.

"Damn, you are something," he growled appreciatively.

She melted into his kiss, completely at peace, forgetting for a moment the long journey to Castle Highever that lay ahead of them tomorrow. For now, just lying here in his arms was pure, unadulterated bliss.


	22. Chapter 22

XXII.

Aeryn stirred and turned on her side. Her body was cramped with the tension of stillness, but she did not move. Beside her, Nathaniel's breathing was heavy and slow; as she lay wakeful, her hands caressed the sculpted lines of his back ever so softly so as not to wake him. The first rays of sunlight filtered into the room, a light breeze from the open window fluttering her hair, which clung damp to her back. As she lay there, she could feel his warm, unsteady breaths on her face as he slept soundly beside her.

The memory of her mother's face, bright and cherry red, popped into her mind as she thought of her engagement the night before. Eleanor was always short-tempered with her, to the point of complete psychosis at times—or so it seemed. She remembered the prominent vein in her forehead almost popping when she told her of her plans to run off with just one of her many lovers.

What would she say of her engagement to Nathaniel?

Oh, she could imagine quite a few things spouting from her mother's mouth… chief among them, words like "appalling," "disgusting," and "inappropriate." Her mother had quite a knack for expressing—in no uncertain terms—her disdain for many of her daughter's choices.

_You should be mourning Thomas, not marrying his brother. You should be sick with grief, young lady. You're thinking with an organ other than your heart again, aren't you? That boy is a menace to his family… why do you think he was sent away to the Free Marches at such a young age?_

Yes, she could imagine her mother having a very strong opinion about the matter, all right.

She sighed and looked to the man sleeping peacefully beside her. He was not a menace at all. Or—well, if last night was any indication—he was at least a very sexy menace. That had to count for something, right?

The brush of her lips against his cheek was what roused him to consciousness, the dark eyes—almost black, with the faintest hint of grey—sparkling brightly as they came into focus. Smothering a yawn with one hand, his arm encircled her and drew her closer.

"So… I have been thinking…" she began.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply until they were both breathing fast and Aeryn's pupils were wide and dark. She forced herself to break the kiss then and there, before they became too involved in much more pleasant pursuits.

"Should that concern me?"

"Just indulge me, Nathaniel, please."

His hand cupped her cheek, tracing his thumb over her perfect lips as he thought of all the ways in which those lips could satisfy him.

"As you desire," he said with a seductive smoothness to his voice.

"I have been thinking, and it seems only proper to restore the Amaranthine estate to the Howe family. I am sorry that the title was stripped from you after the Blight. What happened was not your fault, and you should never have been punished for it."

"I... appreciate the gesture, but don't bother. I am beginning to think this quest of mine is pointless. Strange how the actions of a single night can completely wash away a legacy of heroic deeds done in service to this country."

She gripped him tighter, threading a hand through his hair.

"That's what I'm saying. If you just give up, then your father will have won, you'll remain forever a pariah, and you'll go quietly into the night. Is that the kind of future you envisioned for yourself? You're a Howe; you come from a family of means, of respectability. Don't throw that all away. Rise above it."

"You speak with such conviction about things you obviously know nothing about."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that my claim upon the land is forfeit. It will take generations to rebuild what was lost. I realize that now. The best I can hope for in this lifetime is to begin the long work of restoring it."

"Yet you refuse my offer to restore your lands to you?"

"It isn't deserved," he said under muttered breath. "It would be wrong of me to take it… and self-serving of you to bequeath it, too. The lands rightfully belong to the Grey Wardens, as well they should."

He was right; although it was in her power to give the lands to him should she desire, the decision was not entirely a selfless one. She didn't care; he was the man she loved, and she would have given him anything if it only made him happy.

"Nathaniel, you were there by my side. You helped me defeat the Architect and possibly put a stop to another Blight. If that doesn't merit a pardon for the entire Howe family, I don't know what does."

"Do you even know all the things my father was involved in?" he asked, his voice and tone now far too patronizing for her liking. He had grasped her wrists in both his hands and held her there, facing him, so she could not break eye contact. "His purge of the Alienage elves was motivation alone for the king to strip him of his lands. And his treatment of them—though I have no great love for them—was damnable. He was helping sell them to slavers, torturing innocents, doing terrible things…"

"Of course I know that!" she said, pulling her hands free of his grasp. Her wrists were reddened and raw from where he had gripped them. "I was there. I saw firsthand the fruits of his handiwork."

"He murdered your family, Aeryn," he added darkly. "You said it yourself… _in cold blood_. In my mind, I no longer have any claim upon this land. No more than anyone else, anyway. Generations lost, and all because of him."

"No, I don't believe that," she said. "I don't believe in visiting the sins of the father on the son. That is why I gave you a chance instead of calling for your execution, and surely others too will see that you are not like your father after what you've helped me to accomplish. Great songs will be sung of you after you are gone."

"Then that is the most I can hope for."

"But just hear me out…"

Throwing back the blanket, he slid from the bed, bending to retrieve his clothes from the nearby chair.

"What is to be gained by further conversation? We are finished talking."

He hastily donned his leather armor, slipped into his boots, and made for the door. Wrapping the blanket around her body, Aeryn hopped out of the bed, her footsteps silent as shadows on the cobbles of the floor. When he turned to look at her, she was snuffling back sobs, her nose red and runny.

"My beloved, forgive me, please, if I gave offense…"

She placed both hands on the sides of his face and stroked his cheeks, his face, his hair. He softened to her touch like a Mabari to the plucking of harp strings. He took her hands and brought both open palms to his lips, kissing them. When he brought his eyes up to hers, he was already smiling—an incongruous sight that bemused her due to how thoroughly his brows were still knotted together.

She captured his lips in a hungry kiss as they moved toward the bed, their limbs spiriting them away free of thought.

At that moment, a knock sounded on the door.

Aeryn cursed her rotten luck.

"My lady?" said the voice behind the door as Aeryn disengaged herself from him to go open it. "Do I intrude?"

The voice was flavored with an Orlesian accent, soft and lilting, like a brush of wind on a breezy summer day. It belonged to a nubile young servant in the employ of the king. Her spun gold hair was wound into a simple plait that reached to her enviably svelte waist, and she carried with her a plate of food, which included a crusty loaf of bread that was still warm from the ovens, a pitcher of milk, and some porridge.

She eyed the Arlessa's attire—a rumpled-up bed sheet bunched around her shoulders—with a knowing grin.

"Not at all. Put it down over there."

The maid shuffled over to deposit the food on the table, and then she returned to meekly clasp both hands before Aeryn.

"The king sends his regards and hopes that you will join him in the great hall before you leave." She turned and looked at Nathaniel, who until now had remained silent. "And _you_ as well, assuming you are Ser Howe."

"I am indeed."

Afraid she would giggle aloud, the servant girl bent her head and bit her lip. After Aeryn dismissed her, Nathaniel had one hand on the door frame and was watching after her.

"You'd think, after what they did to us in the war, the king would have reservations about filling his court with their filth."

She walked over to him and smoothed a strand of hair over his ear.

"Be civil, Nate. And help me eat some of this breakfast. I can't finish it all by myself."

Perhaps it was the pleading look in her eyes, or perhaps it was her voice of sweet entreaty that convinced him to sit down for a meal. They ate in companionable silence for some time, ruminating on their previous conversation. At length, he spoke.

"Perhaps we are not as well-matched as we imagined. Our tastes are hardly compatible, and at times you look at me as though you despise me. I can't say I blame you. I'm not exactly the easiest bloke to get on with." As he said this, he was sopping bread in his milk. She watched him with increasing irritation.

"But our differences are not so vast that I would ever want to leave your side."

"And when our marriage fails to produce children? What then? Will your love for me be sufficient enough to sustain you?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"My father would never have reproached my mother for barrenness. Of course he welcomed us children, but were it not to be… he would have loved her just as equally as the day he wed her, children or no. You seem fixated on this."

The matter of infertility bothered her to no avail. Although there was a slim chance her womb could produce life, she was not cheered by it. When she had first learned of her condition, she sought comfort in the fact that other female Wardens before her had dealt similarly with such emotions. As the weeks and months passed, she had become more accepting of her fate, more understanding and compliant. But now, with him sitting across from her staring so blankly into her eyes and accusing her of not being able to produce the one thing she couldn't, the pain was amplified to almost more than she could bear.

"If there's one sensible thing my father taught me, it's the importance of making provisions for the future. A man must have an heir."

"Then recognize Delilah's son when he comes of age." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are impossible, you know."

"Need I remind you that it was _you_ who suggested the marriage?"

"And you agreed to it. But if you're having second thoughts… then perhaps we should part ways at Castle Highever. You take Delilah and go wherever it is you two will go, and I will remain there with Fergus."

"What happened to our differences being not all that vast?" he asked with a ripple of amusement.

"I was mistaken." She stood and nodded to him. "I will see you downstairs."

After dressing in a plain, roughspun tunic of undyed wool and pulling on a pair of boots, she stormed out of the room and downstairs to answer the king's summons.

* * *

She found Alistair surrounded by his personal guard, golden pennons fluttering from the rafters high above them. The stink of the kitchen wafted through the air, sullying the memory of her rather delicious breakfast. As she marched into the hall, Alistair brightened up immediately, a lopsided grin on his face. It seemed she had come just in time to interrupt him from another boring advisory meeting, judging from the angry looks his slew of hangers-on were throwing her way.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite Grey Warden…"

She bowed her head as was the custom, her face a mask of composure, regal in her bearing. It was the old Cousland attitude.

"I hope you enjoyed the breakfast," Alistair said. "I didn't know what you'd like, so I sent up an Alistair special. Yum."

"You're spoiling me," she whispered as they walked. "You know what's going to happen now, don't you? I'm going to return to Castle Highever and forget how to make my own bed."

"Then it seems I've succeeded in rendering you helpless at _something_, at least. Should I give myself just a little pat on the back?"

"Try not to gloat as you do it. Your complacency is getting to be disgusting."

"Right. No gloating here," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder to tap it in jest.

"So… where are the others?" she asked.

"In the other room, preparing to leave. Shall I take you to them?"

"Please do. Although… I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Her gaze indicated the yakking advisors, all of whom were gesturing furiously and pointing to Alistair. She was sure she saw a little steam coming out of their ears.

"Not unless you'd consider throne room decorations important."

"Goodness no."

"Ah, so we are in agreement then."

He led her down a separate gallery and into a side chamber, where her companions had already assembled. The room was alight with laughter and loudness, and sunshine streamed through the open windows. It was sufficiently cool, with stone floors and no furniture or other ornamentation save for a single coat-of-arms.

Aeryn prowled the chamber, coming first to Justice, who stood wearing Kristoff's suit of armor, which had been polished until it gleamed, the scratches and dents from the many battles they'd fought now nearly invisible. She couldn't tell from his expression whether he was happy or sad, but such was the difficulty of having a corpse for a friend. Fortunately, his temporary residence seemed to be holding up just fine.

"So," she began by way of introduction, "now that you've avenged Kristoff's death, do you intend on remaining here much longer?"

"My work here is finished, Warden-Commander, though I fear there is much more that remains to be done. It is not the last we have seen of the Darkspawn…"

"I hope, for all our sakes, that you're wrong, Justice. But if you happen to be right… I feel safe in the knowledge that you will be there on the frontline, fighting any and all resistance pockets. I'm happy to have known you and called you a friend."

"And you, Commander. I plan on keeping in touch with the mortal's wife, Aura, during my stay here. These feelings—though I no longer continue to envy them, I wish to understand more about them. The love they shared was so powerful… it amazes me to think two mortals could share something like that. I suppose I never thought you capable of such strong emotions."

She said sadly, "Unfortunately, it's part of being human. Part of me envies how you were before, not having to deal with the complexities of a mortal existence."

"I didn't know before what I know now," he countered, "and I'm glad to have had the chance to learn more. Commander."

He nodded, and it seemed to Aeryn as he moved aside toward the others that there was something otherworldly shining in his face, a great joy burning within him. It warmed her heart to see this.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she almost didn't feel the tap on her shoulder. As she spun around, nearly unbalancing herself in the process, she was met with a widely grinning Anders. In his arms, Ser Pounce-a-lot was bundled up in a little ball. The kitten softly mewled in her direction as soon as she let out a sigh of relief.

"Trying to scare the pants off me, are you?"

"Don't go planting tantalizing images in my head, Commander, if you don't plan on making good on them…"

Her mouth gaped open, impossibly wide in her small face.

"You know, I rather expected you'd be surrounded by a harem of nubile young mistresses about now. I mean, after your whole heroic showing last night with the drinking contest and everything…"

"Oh, ha ha ha, very funny. I demand a rematch. The dwarf's a nasty cheat."

"Tell that to Oghren."

A loud belch shattered the relative silence.

"Tell me _what_? What are you two girls whispering about over here?"

In his hand he held a tankard of ale—as expected—which he drained, red-faced, while deflecting glances from everyone in the room. He tossed the cup away with a metal clatter. By his side, a petite dwarven woman stood with a little crying bundle.

_Felsi._

Aeryn smiled as Oghren stretched an arm around her shoulders.

Motherhood had not entirely agreed with Felsi; her face seemed aged by almost ten years, the shadows having taken up permanent residence beneath her eyes, and her hair so helplessly knotted that Aeryn couldn't help but feel the woman deserved a little time off. Unfortunately, there was none to be had. The little fidgeting bundle in her arms demanded all of her attention.

"Hey, Warden, I don't think you ever got to meet my wife, Felsi."

"Actually, we did meet once before, long ago, in the tavern at Lake Calenhad. But it's very nice to see you again."

She crossed both hands together and smiled in the exasperated-looking woman's direction as she gently bounced the bundle over her shoulder. The creature was a bona fide farting, belching machine—obviously Oghren's pride and joy. The glint in his eye as he made faces at the little baby was unmistakable.

"And this here is my nugget. Warden, nugget. Nugget, Warden. Now you two are properly acquainted."

Before she could say anything in response, she saw Nathaniel sidle into the room out of the periphery of her vision. She pretended to ignore him, acting as though she was too engrossed in the conversation to have noticed his entrance, when she was anything but. He immediately engaged Justice in conversation and looked to be having a good time of it too.

"I heard a lot about the little fella."

"Yeah, well, seeing as how Oghren isn't home all that much to take care of his _nugget_, I don't know how that's even possible," the new mother growled, patting the baby's back.

"Things'll be different now, Fels. I promise."

"They'd better be, Oghren. They'd better be."

She peeled away, and Aeryn whispered from behind her hand, "See? I told you things would be better if you two just worked it out."

"I swear, the woman's got my stones in her hand. She knows just what to say to have me come crawling back every time."

"Trust me, it's all for the best."

"If you say so."

She crossed the room to where Velanna, Seranni, and Sigrun stood, ever conscious of Nathaniel's eyes upon her. As she pretended to express sorrow at Velanna's decision to return to the Wending Wood with her sister—Maker forbid!—she saw him make a curt bow to Alistair and then leave the room. It was not long after he had done so that she excused herself, bidding Alistair—and the others—goodbye and then thanking the king for his hospitality.

Her stomach was a pit of nausea as she climbed the stairs two at a time. She had just barely made it to the privy before vomiting, bringing up nothing but green bile. As her stomach violently emptied itself of its contents, both hands gripped the walls for support.

When at last she finished, she found some cold water and rinsed her face, gazing at her reflection in one of the castle's many mirrors. The face that stared back at her was one she hardly recognized—pale, gaunt, and weak. She'd hardly had time enough to attend to her own health.

She would be glad when they were in Highever and she had Fergus to take care of her.


	23. Chapter 23

XXIII.

After a few delays, they were on their way to Castle Highever. They traveled with two armed guards of the king's employ—all that he could spare, at the moment—and a small company of servants. Aeryn had wanted a larger party, but that might have attracted unwelcome attention from highwaymen looking to rob them of money or possessions. Still, every additional man lessened the risk of such encounters.

The lands they traveled through were low and steeped in dew, a wilderness of green hills, mature trees, and swamps. They headed north on a dirt road, slightly slimmer than those in Denerim—though no less traveled—with a warm breeze at their backs. As they passed by several of the outlying cities—many of them having been damaged by the Darkspawn attacks—they were greeted by mud-brick dwellings, several of which were still neat and well-maintained. The peasants stopped to wave them on their way. She could catch some of the excited murmurs as they passed with the king's banner held high.

Not even an hour into the journey, Aeryn looked like a woman who had taken ill and was ready for a place to sit down. She walked with one hand held to her stomach, as if it hurt her. The queasiness that had been building in her stomach and throat since the morning's breakfast was amplified by the journey even though they moved at a leisurely pace.

The grand blue plume in her helmet fluttered as the procession moved on foot down dirt roads bound for Highever. She felt Nathaniel close beside her, walking in silence. His grandfather's bow and a leather quiver full of arrows with feather fletching hung from his shoulder. He had donned a cap of boiled leather and fingerless gloves to complete his ensemble.

They had not spoken so much as a word to one another since their departure. Even then, it had been a strained exchange of pleasantries done merely for show. Since they were now no longer in the company of their companions, they felt no need to keep up appearances, and had lapsed into silence accordingly.

By the time their party came upon an inn, it was midday. They stopped and rested, had a meal, and then were on their way again nearly an hour later. The procession picked up pace, encouraged by the extra spurt of energy.

Even Nathaniel seemed more agreeable after the hearty meal, and he muttered to her as they walked, "So are we to have silence the entire road to Highever?"

"I'm still cross with you, in case you've failed to notice."

"Yes, I don't think I've ever seen your nose stuck up in the air quite as high as today. You're acting very juvenile."

A light rain began to fall down upon them all. It only seemed to dampen Aeryn's mood all the more.

"If I am, it's because you provoke such strong reactions in me. I don't know why you delight in torturing me, you insufferable prig."

"I wouldn't _dream_ of doing thus. Leave your chamber door unbarred tonight, and I will steal into your bed and prove it to you."

As tempting as the offer was—and despite the thickness of desire in his voice—Aeryn had to resist the urge to accept him then and there. The wave of nausea welling in the pit of her stomach made it a little easier to hold on to her crumbling resolve.

"Is that really so wise? My brother and your sister are in the castle. Hearing that will very likely put her into early labor!"

She recalled the soft, sweet sounds of their lovemaking the night before, the way that his deep grunts had set her very bones to shaking. The taste of his tongue filled her mouth again, rich with sweet wine mixed with desire.

He laughed good-naturedly. "Poor Delilah. I think she has enough to deal with as it is."

She smiled, all of her anger dissipating for the moment as she thought of the woman's slackened jaw and wide eyes.

"So… does this mean you are still going to be leaving once we arrive at Highever?"

"I was hoping to stay, but it was made clear to me my presence here is no longer desired."

Her mood was not improved when he said this; the anger returned, and in greater force.

"That is not entirely true. But that changes _nothing_ about my situation."

"No, it does not." He paused and licked his lips. "And… I've thought a great deal more about what you've said regarding Delilah and her son. You make a good point. And… when Thomas finally arrives, I should like to one day recognize him."

"So this is an apology then?"

"Of sorts."

"You're doing a very poor job of it!"

He put an arm around her and squeezed. In this action of his was an unspoken understanding that all was forgiven. After a while, she wrenched free of his embrace, forcing herself to move forward lest she lose her strength and fall down right then and there. She felt so weak that her knees buckled, and Nathaniel noticed this, hooking an arm under her to support her.

"You look pale. Perhaps you should rest when we get to the castle."

"I feel like I'm going to be ill," she admitted, feeling weak for having done so. "I haven't had a proper meal in Maker-knows-how-long—breakfast aside—and I'll be happy to be back in my own bed, sleeping soundly. I've been vomiting all morning."

"Your brother will have my head if he thinks you are with child."

"Fergus already knows that isn't possible. He was there when Alistair was crowned king, and he saw what I had become."

"Still… you should take care not to arouse his suspicion. I like my head where it is."

She smiled at him.

"I should warn you… my brother is a warm man, and he will welcome you, but see that you make no trouble or else you won't find him as warm as he ought to be."

"Your concern is duly noted, my lady Cousland."

Their party reached Castle Highever in the late afternoon. Situated on the northern coast of Ferelden, the bounding green countryside of Highever was a welcome sight to her eyes. As one of the only two teynirs remaining in the country, it had formerly fallen under the reign of the Elstan family—cousins to the Howes—before coming to the Couslands. Ever since then, the land had prospered under the Cousland reign for some three hundred years. Looking around, it was easy to see why…

Pristine fields, perfectly cultivated and kept, had not lain follow for a single season since her father's succession, and as a result they bore bountiful fruit. Two oxen pulled a plough of wood across the sloping landscape, which had been enriched with manure. Farmers tended the land, raised the cattle, kept the city's reservoirs in working order, and cultivated the teyrn's many vast gardens. The whole city produced a steady stream of goods to be exported to other cities and abroad, as well. As a result of this, a wealth of prosperity flowed into the Couslands' coffers.

Ever since assuming the teynir of Highever, Fergus had been a diligent master, dipping deep into his pocket to donate the money necessary to fund the repairs to the city. Most of the outer ramparts had been damaged in the attack, and as they approached the city, they could see it was nearly a quarter complete. Much of the wall had been reconstructed, and it had been done in such a way as to match what was there before.

The imposing structure was cast in the golden glow of the dying sun as they approached and entered the open courtyard. Survivors from Amaranthine whom they had sent on ahead to the castle lounged in the courtyard, soaking up the sun. As Aeryn, Nathaniel, and their entourage arrived, they took immediate notice of them, watching their every move.

"Little sister!" a booming voice proclaimed from across the courtyard. There stood Fergus, his auburn hair combed neatly to one side, his beard freshly trimmed. He wore the family's heraldic device—a laurel wreath that resembled two white wings—on his breastplate. Tears sprung, unbidden, to her eyes. "Dry your eyes, love, and embrace me!"

She crossed the court in what seemed like two steps and threw her arms around him in the biggest hug she could manage.

It felt good to be home again.

"Fergus," she said softly, her head relaxing into his shoulder. She could not find a warmer welcome than here, safely ensconced in his arms. "I see you finally left Alistair's court and came home."

"And, it seems, at quite the right time. I didn't know you were planning on sending so many people here to the castle. I barely had my affairs in order here as it was."

"My apologies, but it was the only way."

"You must do what you think is right, of course. Do you remember Father saying that?"

"Of course."

Fergus' face was still boyish, despite his beard. He could almost pass for a decade younger. She recalled her brother at thirteen, smiling at the memory of a bandy-legged boy with long, straggly auburn hair that he had absolutely refused to trim for almost a year. Her father had taken him on many hunting trips, teaching him how to sight his prey and follow a target even in flight. Those archery lessons were since long forgotten, replaced by a great broadsword that hung diagonally on his back, made from pure steel. Bryce had loudly lamented the fact that neither of them had shown a particular aptitude for—or interest in—archery. She wondered what he would make of Nathaniel, with his cool, keen assurance with the bow; he could hit and kill anything he desired. She was certain her father would have been impressed with him, and secretly thrilled as well; in his day, Bryce had been an excellent competitive marksman.

"But come, love. You look tired. It's time you get some rest."

Just as he took Aeryn by the arm, his gaze settled upon Nathaniel. _Who are you?_ his narrowed eyes seemed to say. _Why are you here? This is not your place._

"I assume, from your likeness, that you are… Delilah Howe's brother?"

"I am."

"You'll find her resting in the dining room with the others."

The three of them walked up the cobblestone path and toward the dining room. Only a few lamps lit the wide open room, and a fresh breeze filled the halls as they entered. Most of the Cousland family antiques had been ransacked, including the majestic coats-of-arms that once stood guard here, watching over them at dinner. Aeryn's heart broke as she entered the room and saw all of the remaining survivors lying on the ground, huddled closer together. Nearest the door was Delilah, sitting with two hands propped up on her swelling belly. At their entrance, she immediately pushed herself to a standing position and ambled over to hug her brother.

The embrace lasted a long while, and when neither one showed any signs of budging, Fergus tugged at Aeryn's sleeve. She turned to look at him, unlatching her plumed helmet and holding it under the crook of her arm.

"A word?"

"Certainly."

They ducked out of the dining room and into the blinding sunlight. Although her legs were long, she had to hurry to keep pace with her brother's longer strides. He quickened his pace as they rounded the corner back toward the courtyard, both arms crossed behind his back.

"I had looked for a warmer welcome from you, Brother," she admitted at last. "One that didn't involve you giving Nathaniel Howe the old stink-eye of yours."

"He is no friend of ours," he explained. "Though I have shown Delilah every courtesy in the world given her condition."

"I know you may hold him accountable for what his father did, but he is no more to blame than she is," she pleaded with him. "He is a good man."

"That may well be true, but I am ill at ease with the prospect of letting them shelter here while she brings her child to term."

"Have you had the midwife attend her yet?"

"Yes, and she seems to be well," he said with a note of concern. "Everything looks to be normal, which is a relief. Though she is in no condition to make another journey on foot. The exhaustion would do her in entirely."

"Why should you care so much if you're _so_ determined to be rid of them?" she asked with one delicately arched eyebrow.

"I am not without a heart, little sister. I saw what Oriana went through in her pregnancy, and I know that the stress of travel can leave her vulnerable to sickness. I would not wish that upon Delilah. I've actually become quite fond of her in the few days she has been here… though it surprises even me."

"You have?"

"Yes, we sometimes stroll about the courtyard during the day, discussing what must be done with the remaining survivors here. She is determined to see them properly housed and fed. She's even drawn up a plan. It's almost… _inspiring_."

As he said this, he smiled shyly, which was unusual for Fergus. He was usually bold as polished brass.

"And she claims to have known nothing of her father's _heinous_ plans for Father, Mother, my beloved Oriana, my little Oren…" His breath snagged in his throat and Aeryn could have sworn she heard him choke back a sob. "She denounces his traitorous ways."

"So does Nathaniel," Aeryn interjected, gripping his hands firmly as they walked. "When I first met him, he'd just returned from the Free Marches. He did not know all that had gone on. He thought we were to blame for what happened. But over time, he came to see his father for what he truly was." As she paused for breath, she saw her chance. "And we became closer, too."

"Closer how?"

"Well… we are betrothed."

That took him by surprise. In the message she had sent ahead to him, she had never mentioned a betrothal. His brow wrinkled as though he were not at all pleased with this new development. She was almost happy she had not mentioned the circumstances of how she had proposed the marriage to him. That might have thrown him over the edge entirely.

"I cannot, in good conscience, allow this marriage to take place. I'm sorry, little sister, but considering all that's happened, it would be most improper."

"Improper how, exactly?"

"A man does not marry his younger sister to the son of his wife's murderer. It is ridiculous! But worry not… I will find another man for you, a better man than Nathaniel."

She tried to move away from him, but his grip on her arm just grew tighter.

"I don't want another man; I want him," she shot back. "I am a woman grown, and capable of making my own decisions. I don't need you to protect me any longer, Fergus. Or did you forget already that your little sister helped defeat a Blight?"

"And let it go to her head, too, apparently."

She balled her hand into a fist and playfully punched his shoulder so that the one hand he had gripping her arm unclenched.

"And what am I to tell him now? That my brother disapproves, 'so shove off'? I can't do that."

"You might have seen fit to consult with me first," he told her.

"In between battling Darkspawn and running for our lives, it was hard to find the _time_."

"Don't get snide with me. I'm merely doing this for your own protection. He is unfit to wipe your boots, much less marry you."

"I know what I'm doing, Fergus. He makes me happy. Exasperated too, at times. But happy. Don't you remember how you felt when you met Oriana?"

That pleading look in her eyes seemed to weaken his resolve. He released a very heavy sigh and put an arm around her shoulders, walking her back toward the dining room now that the had completed a full circuit of the castle path.

"Very well. I will speak to him tonight at dinner—_alone_. I will hear what he has to say of his intentions toward you."

"Thank you, Fergus," she said, her arms snaking around his neck in an affectionate squeeze.

"I don't know why I indulge you like this, love. I should be scolding you like a child."

"I suppose it's because you just _can't bear_ to see me cry."

"Why, you devious little thing!"

A wary smile crept across his lips. Arm in arm, they headed for the dining room just as the sun began slipping below the horizon line, spreading gold over the fields.


	24. Chapter 24

XXIV.

Dinner was a somber affair. With so many other people sharing their food, they had to eat sparingly to ensure there were portions enough for everybody. It was a simple supper of soup and bread, nothing elaborate; the cook was no Nan, that was for certain. Midway through the meal, one of Fergus' personal servants entered to build up the fire anew, poking and prodding it to life. Both Fergus and Nathaniel were walking about to the survivors with pots of soup, offering them food. Aeryn watched them both with interest as she nibbled on the bread, her stomach finally happy to be fed. Delilah sat next to her, scarcely touching her drink. She had been excited by the news of their impending nuptials, but something seemed to be weighing on her mind.

"He's a good man, your brother," she said at last.

"Fergus has a big heart. But he takes too much upon himself. He just always wants to be sure everybody is cared for. That's my brother."

"He has been very kind to me ever since _Albert_…" As she ladled soup out of her bowl, her hand quivered. She paused and looked away. "He has been very sympathetic."

"Perhaps it's because he understands what you're going through," she said with a crushing sense of loss, remembering the sweet little boy who used to kneel beside her as she relayed her father's bedtime stories to him. The way he looked up at her with utter adoration had melted her heart.

"Yes. And, you know, he said the most poignant thing to me the other day…" Delilah remembered, setting aside the bowl. "He said that although they are gone from us in body, there is forever a connection—a spiritual one—that transcends death. He said that if we keep them always in our thoughts, they will remain forever alive."

"It's true, you know. I may not have lost a spouse, but I did lose my mother and father. When I think about them, they still seem alive to me. I sometimes forget that they aren't…"

She lazily stirred her soup with a spoon, gazing into the murky yellowish mixture. Vegetables of indeterminate variety floated at the top. Her stomach retched at the thought of eating them. She placed the bowl aside and picked up her bread again. It was bland enough to settle her stomach.

"Memory's a funny thing that way," she added.

"I suppose it is. When I saw you again in Amaranthine, I hardly recognized you. It wasn't until Nate introduced you that I realized you were the same Aeryn who used to harbor such a crush on our Tom."

Aeryn giggled light-heartedly.

"I think it was the other way around. Thomas pursued _me_."

"Not as I remember it. Tom said you shamelessly threw yourself at him when he and Father visited you here at Castle Highever. Though I expect it was more to feed his own ego. Tom always was the sensitive sort, very concerned with appearances. He was positively crushed when you found a new lover. He would have married you."

"So I've been told."

"Poor Tom. I miss him so."

Aeryn sought her cup and raised it in the air.

"A drink, then. To those we've lost. May they continue to live in our thoughts."

Delilah lifted her own cup and clinked it to hers before sipping at the contents. Aeryn threw her head back and downed the drink in one gulp. As her vision cleared, her eyes settled on Fergus and Nathaniel. They had finished handing out the soup and retired to a corner where they could speak privately. There was no use in trying to listen in on the conversation; more than ten feet separated them from her. From the serious looks being thrown about, she didn't imagine it was going all that well. Snatches of conversation gradually traveled the short distance to their table, and she could hear a few sentences being tossed about here and there.

"I would ask your intentions toward my sister, but they are already quite clear…"

"You don't approve, my lord Cousland?"

"Certainly not. Which is why I need to hear the words from your mouth."

"I don't see why. Is the idea that someone might want to marry your sister so very terrible?"

"No, but the thought of a Howe asking for her hand is downright sickening."

The roar of voices bounced off the walls, and Aeryn was no longer able to hear what they were saying. Frenzied gestures and scowls and snarling passed between them. At one point, Fergus set aside his plate and stormed off, exiting the dining hall. Nathaniel made no move to go after him, instead floating over to the table where the two women sat watching.

"Maker, Nate! What did you say?" Delilah breathed. "You must apologize to him at once!"

"So much for his irenic spirit," he said in a distant, brooding voice. "He practically accused me of praying each night to be half the man Father was. I told him he couldn't be more mistaken, that I was no snarling Mabari, content to kill for sport."

Aeryn placed aside her bread and took his arm.

"Come on. Let's go for a walk."

After very little persuasion, he agreed. They exited the dining hall and began walking the winding roads of the castle, feeling the moonlight shine down upon them like a visible touch. Beside her, she could see him clearly; the prominent line of his nose sloping outward, the narrow sweep of his jaw, the softness darkness of his brows, which had fixed in a firm line. He was obviously bothered by what had just transpired.

"Your brother is an impossible man to deal with."

"Surely you must have said something to upset him so. He doesn't like being made to feel like a fool."

"I said nothing that remotely implied he was one, _my lady_."

"Maker, I hope not!"

"I merely told him that we would marry with or without his consent."

"Has your brain gone soft? Or did you really think that was going to earn you his respect?"

Suddenly, Nathaniel grew quiet, a hand upon her arm as though he were willing her to be still. His eyes cased the darkness.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

She could hear voices emanating from the dining hall, but all she could see was the outlines of the courtyard's stone walls beneath the silvery moonlight. The night wind was just beginning to moan, making it hard to hear much beyond the revelry spilling forth from the hall.

And then it happened.

Without so much as a second to spare, his body was on top of her, covering her, as they fell to the ground. Her head shuddered with pain as it struck the cobblestones, her vision blurring at the edges for a split second. A group of men—bandits, by the look of them—pushed through the open gates of the castle and climbed the worn stone steps to the first unmarked door. A dark spell had fallen over the castle, but one of the intruders held a lantern aloft in the howling breeze. As they jiggled the lock, Aeryn's eyes fell on the one prisoner they had taken hostage, his hands bound and mouth gagged as tousled strands of hair fell into his eyes.

_Fergus!_ she thought with fear. In its current state, Castle Highever had to fend off not only attacks from winds and rain, but bandits as well. With the front entrance unguarded at this late hour, it was no wonder the intruders had been able to creep in undetected.

She felt movement as Nathaniel's arms drew from her sides and to the bow strapped at his back.

"Don't…" she cautioned him, her protests lost on the wind.

Retrieving a single arrow from the quiver on his back, he aimed it toward the man guarding Fergus and squinted one eye closed. With a twang, he unleashed the arrow; far and fast it flew, a short shaft of wood fletched with crimson feathers that whistled through the air before lodging in the man's chest. With a cry, he fell backward, giving Fergus the chance to level a blow at the nearer of the two remaining bandits.

Nathaniel hopped to his feet, running as fast as he could to an elevated position from which he could pick off their attackers. Despite not having a weapon to fight with, Aeryn ran up and used her fists to pummel one of the men in his wolfish face. He had one hand on the door to her father's treasury, so he didn't see the fist threatening to collide with his jaw until it made contact with a sickening crack of bones. He bit back a gasp of pain as the force of the blow splintered through his swollen joints.

Another arrow whizzed by her head, slicing into the stomach of the attacker nearest Fergus. As it sank its shaft deep into the man's innards, his face went pale and he toppled forward.

For several long minutes, Aeryn grappled with the remaining bandit while Fergus undid his binds on the edge of the dead man's sword. He ripped out the gag and went over to assist her, but his help was not needed; a single blow to the head was all it took to send the man to his knees. Nathaniel finished him off with another arrow and then hopped down off his perch to go take her arm.

"You are all right?"

"Yes. Fergus, what happened?"

"They lay in wait for me as I left the dining hall," he explained breathlessly. "I am fortunate you came when you did. I doubt I'd be standing here otherwise."

She threw her arms around him in an embrace, breathing a sigh of relief that he had been unharmed by the attack. His breath was coming fast and short, in spurts.

"You ought to thank Nathaniel for coming to your rescue. Were it not for his keen senses, I would never have known what was going on until it was too late."

Looking at the man, Fergus was dismayed. As much as he hated to admit he was wrong, it seemed as though now was one of those times. The dark man stood before him patiently awaiting a response.

"I... I fear I find myself in the uncomfortable position of being in your debt, Ser Howe. Name your reward, and you shall have it."

Nathaniel looked away from the woman standing at his side, as if he could no longer bear to look at her. The moonlight shone in his dark eyes as he studied the cobblestones coolly.

"There is only one thing I want."

Tentatively, Fergus placed an arm on his shoulders. He had been expecting as much.

"Then you shall have it. I am a man of my word, and I must see this debt repaid. That is… if my little sister consents. If you do not wish to follow through with this, love…"

"Oh no, I do."

"Then… then you have my _blessing_." The word sounded strange on his own tongue. He fixed Nathaniel with a wary eye. "Though I warn you that if you hurt my sister in any way, shape, manner, or form, I shall have to hunt you down."

"Fair enough."

With a grin, the men clasped hands to seal the bargain.


	25. Chapter 25

XXV.

_One Month Later_

She did not close her eyes that night, fighting her nerves and misgivings about the day to come. Even as the sun crept over the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her simple bedchamber in Castle Highever. The day before had been crammed with fittings and last-minute preparations for the informal ceremony due to take place in the chapel the following afternoon. And now, at last, the day had come.

Her aching head and raw nerves were signs enough of her own nervousness. Despite whatever lingering doubts still existed, however, she was more than certain that she would be very happy at the end of the day when all the pomp and ceremony was over and done with. She did not relish the thought of so many eyes upon her at once, all judging her based on silly criteria like the cut of her dress, the styling of her hair, whether or not she had lost that extra few pounds since winter…

She threw aside the covers and donned a beige tunic and a pair of man's breeches to go raid the larder. This early in the morning, there was no one to disturb her, so she made her selections quickly and returned with the sumptuous feast to her bedroom, spreading out the bread, cheese, and crackers along her dresser.

One stomach ache later, the food was done… and she felt none the better for having consumed the rough equivalent of three pounds of food in one sitting.

_Oh, Maker..._

Rushing to the privy with staggering steps, she retched her breakfast, muscles spasming in pain and mind whirling with panic. When she had finally recovered, her face was damp with sweat, so she washed it and waited for the dawn to arrive.

When it finally did, a knock sounded on her door. She was immediately spirited away by one of her ladies-in-waiting to a room where Delilah had lain out her gown, a crème-colored robe of some fine and precious fabric. A pale gold bridal coronet crowned the ensemble.

As Aeryn stepped into the room and closed the door, Delilah greeted her with a smile. Her hair was unbound, infused with a little extra curl for the occasion, and she had already dressed herself in a ceremonial gown of deepest emerald.

"Have a seat, love. Nervous?"

She moved to sit, Delilah's nimble fingers threading through her mussed waves, trying to set them in some semblance of order. As they talked, serving women scurried back and forth with tools for their mistress.

"I felt ill this morning, but the nausea passed quickly."

She raised an eyebrow in question.

"I do hope it's nothing too serious."

"No, just nerves. Not anything _indelicate_, I can assure you."

"When you are wedded and bedded, then you can at last think of children. I didn't even think of becoming pregnant until I had been married to Albert for almost a year."

Her hand settled warmly on her swelling belly, the fingers fluttering over the precious treasure housed within. With a sigh, she resumed her ministrations, dressing Aeryn's hair in a way which seemed most becoming, trying different necklaces on her throat, and rubbing cosmetics on her face to conceal the remnants of her sleepless night. When she had done, Aeryn was a vision, thanks to her care and taste. Her hair was a luxuriance of soft, cascading waves that tumbled over her shoulders in riotous abandon, her face full of color and life.

Aeryn stood as Delilah helped her into the costly gown—suitable for a queen—pulling it snug over her head. The gown fluttered down and into place, glowing a brilliant white hue. As she turned to survey her reflection in the nearby mirror, she was surprised by what she saw. Delilah had done a superb job in making her look presentable. She would command much attention in this dress, whether she liked it or not.

She almost didn't feel like a Grey Warden.

She imagined this was the sort of life her mother had wanted for her—to happily retire to some countryside estate with a husband of means instead of devoting her life to tirelessly fighting against the contagion that had spread across their lands. She couldn't ever imagine the life of a bored housewife would satisfy her with all the things she had done and seen. Nor could she envision Nathaniel as the type who would demand her to occupy that role.

But for one day at least she could play the part.

"Your veil, my lady," Delilah said softly, pinning the opaque fabric into place so that it fell before her eyes, giving them a mysterious cast. "There. Now you're ready."

"I don't know if I can do this… go out there and face all those people."

"They're your friends. Surely you're looking forward to seeing them?"

"Of course I am. It's just… I'd rather not so much pressure be placed upon my shoulders on a day when I'm supposed to be completely at ease."

"My dear, I don't know what they've told you, but this day will be the most impossibly convoluted, stressful, maddening, harried… and _wonderful_ day of your life. They're lying if they say you're supposed to be at ease. Maker knows I wasn't. But it's all worth it in the end. You'll still be Lady Aeryn Howe by sundown."

She felt strangely comforted by this admission, knowing she was not alone in her anxiety. Delilah was so calm and level-headed, she had a hard time imagining her as anything but serene. Her concern and honesty touched her. Almost immediately, she dissolved into a furiously weeping mess. Her veil was crushed and rumpled, her face smeared with crying, and her hair all loose and untidy. With somewhat of a sigh, Delilah went about the long work of putting everything back in order, warning her not to cry again or else she would have to begin anew.

It was nearing noon by the time they finished their preparations. Already the guests had gathered at the Cousland family chapel, where Nathaniel was due to begin receiving them. She imagined the sight of him in his bridal robes, his hair slicked back from his face so that nothing took away from it. It was a far cry from the image of him she had forever planted in her mind—the one of him covered in mud and patches of dirt that had squished up under his fingernails, his hands grimy from traveling outdoors and sleeping under the stars at night. She laughed as she wondered whether he would even be able to part with his bow for the occasion.

She was drawn sharply from her reverie by the sound of a knock at the door. The servant's voice was soft and respectful.

"My lady. Ser Howe has asked that you and the lady Cousland show yourselves in the chapel. The guests have already arrived and the ceremony is underway."

Delilah took her arm and gripped it excitedly.

"Are you ready, Aeryn?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Come on then," she urged, leading her by the arm to the door. "Let's get moving."

For a pregnant woman, she moved surprisingly quickly. She kept a firm, unwavering grip on Aeryn's arm as she led her down the sunlit gallery, past a row of pillars and into the alcove from whence a pleasant tune was emanating. The rustle of her garments as they walked died away into silence the minute she heard the voices seeping from within the chapel walls.

She took a deep breath and prayed for the best.

* * *

The chapel had been a site of devotion for the Cousland family in times long past, but now its use was attributed to celebrations of royal occasions only. There was a long line of pews leading up to the altar, and alongside the pews were several ancient tombs carved with the golden symbol of Andraste. Nearly eighty candles warded off the chill of the unusually cold day.

It seemed as though all of Ferelden had turned out en masse to witness the nuptials. Oghren and Felsi, along with their sputtering little tyke, occupied the front row beside Anders, a happily dozing Ser Pounce-a-lot, and his yet-unnamed lusty mistress, who seemed to be drawing attention with her impressive… _endowments_. Wynne, Sigrun, Seranni, and a sullen-looking Velanna sat nearby, and even King Alistair had attended with his royal retinue of nobles, servants, and knights. Justice was the only absence that made a notable difference. Peeking into the chapel to get a look at all the guests, Aeryn's mind drifted to the thought of Kristoff's decaying body, and she thought that Justice had finally decided to take his leave of this world.

It saddened her.

But before she could be overcome by such emotions, Fergus appeared from the door, smiling as widely as possible, to extend an arm to her. When she entered, arm in arm, with her brother, she made a point of stopping to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, beaming with delight.

They began the long, slow walk up the altar. She moved with complete poise and assurance, as if she had been born for this moment. Her crème-colored gown fluttered as she walked, pooling about her long, athletic legs. From her vantage point, she could see Nathaniel fast approaching. He stood at the front in a subdued black robe, the corded muscles on his neck easing slightly at his first glimpse of her.

She drew the deepest, longest breath she had ever taken and silently willed her nerves to be calm. As if in obedience to her wishes, the nausea in the pit of her stomach disappeared. In its place was a newfound confidence and joy at what was to come.

Fergus soon reached his side and, placing Aeryn's manicured hand in his soon-to-be brother-in-law's, said, "She's all yours, Nathaniel."

She donned her best smile and stepped forward to welcome her new life.


	26. Epilogue

**Author's Note: Well, it's certainly been a long journey (okay, so 12 days isn't that long, but...)! I want to thank you so much to everyone for being such loyal readers and for reviewing as often as you did. You were the driving force behind me finishing this story so quickly, so thanks a lot for all the encouragement and support. I'm sure going to miss me some Howeland interaction now. Sniff sniff! ;)**

* * *

Epilogue

The weary travelers trudged up the long road in cloaks of pale grey. The mottled road turned and twisted, sending them in all directions before they safely navigated their way back to the main path. There before them, Castle Highever stood in all its beauty, a lonely, melancholy sight on a landscape that had since known the touch of pestilence and famine. Where gardens once flourished, a jungle of weeds and brambles now thrived, tumbling out across patches of brown earth. Cattle grazed the grass-covered hills and farmsteads of the region.

It was almost deplorable, the condition the city was in, though Aeryn had to remind herself that Fergus was not quite so young anymore, and he had greater concerns on his mind than the tending of his farmlands.

Nathaniel walked quietly at her side. His face was older, its planes more defined yet still handsome in a rugged sort of way. A long winter's illness had etched permanent lines into his face, lines which gave him character, she decided. She liked the way he looked with the extra bit of age on his face—distinguished, like some conquering hero of ages past.

She had changed too. Somewhere beyond her fortieth year she had stopped looking in the mirror; she never quite liked the sight that stared back at her. All wrinkles and grey hairs and faded skin. Although Nathaniel was quick to reassure her she was still incredibly beautiful, she knew the long black plait she still sported was an attempt to hang on to her youth—in vain, for it had gone, and there was now no disguising that fact.

As they drew nearer the castle, following the path until where the road forked, a surge of contentment filled her. It had been years since they visited Highever, and even longer still since they had last seen Fergus and Delilah. The two had shortly married following her own nuptials, and Aeryn couldn't have approved of the match any more than she already did. Delilah had been like a sister to her, sharing her hopes, dreams, and fears for the future over many a cup of tea. It was almost sinful that they had made so little time for them in the years that passed, but duty had called them away from home on more than one occasion.

She had only just recently relinquished her title as Commander of the Grey, realizing that she had come at last to the end of her time here. As her body continued to absorb the taint of the Darkspawn blood, she had felt the call of the Deep Roads, and so had Nathaniel. The time had come to end their lives with purpose—though not before this one last important visit.

The boys—she couldn't really call them that anymore; they were nearly thirty years old!—were already awaiting their arrival outside the castle walls. Thomas, a great strapping fellow who had inherited Delilah's pale eyes and kind disposition, waved back and forth in greeting. William, the son Delilah had borne to her brother Fergus, stood quietly by with a mysterious smile on his face. He resembled her father Bryce in both appearance and manner—so much so that Fergus had taken to affectionately calling him "pup." The nickname, much to the boy's chagrin, had struck throughout childhood and well into his adult years.

"If it isn't Auntie Aeryn and Uncle Nate!" Thomas bellowed at the top of his lungs, cupping both hands over his mouth.

"Thomas, look at you!" Aeryn said as she was encompassed by his huge, hulking form. He lifted her off her feet, spinning her around with glee. "My, but you've grown so big! I can hardly believe my eyes!"

"Sad you can't pinch my cheek and call me a child anymore, are you?"

"You're not too big for a thrashing, mind!" Her eyes darted to the quiet boy standing to her right, shy as a wild rabbit. He went forward and embraced her tentatively. "And you, William! Look how you've grown. You're so handsome. You look very like your father."

"It is good to see you, Auntie. Mother and Father have been looking forward to this visit for a long time," William said quietly.

"Where are your parents?"

"Come, we will lead you to them!" Thomas said effusively, like an overgrown child. He darted past with sprinting steps, leading them through a maze of overgrown, twisting, formidable roads within the castle walls. Before long, they came to the courtyard, where two gleaming white statues had been erected in their honor, depicting them as they were in their days as young Grey Wardens. The statues never failed to take her breath away with their impressive level of craftsmanship, the marble so smooth and sculpted, perfectly capturing every little contour in their faces with a startling amount of detail.

"I always love seeing Auntie Aeryn wielding her sword like that," Thomas laughed as he turned to face her. "It's hard to imagine her ever being that fierce now!"

"Your aunt was a force to be reckoned with in her time," Nathaniel said in a gruff manner. "You boys were too young to remember, of course."

"Yes, yes, we've _already_ heard the stories, Uncle," Thomas said, "Of how you two helped defeat a Blight, brought peace to the kingdom, killed a lot of Darkspawn, et cetera, et cetera. I could recite it by heart at this point."

"Those two could do with a lesson in manners," Nathaniel muttered in an undertone as the boys passed on ahead of them, laughing quietly amongst themselves.

"But who is going to teach them, my love, _you_?"

As she said this, she patted a hand to his clean-shaven face, which still—after all these years—sported a small soul patch just beneath his lower lip. His hair was shorter, pulled taut into a ponytail at the back of his head. The style suited him nicely.

They moved through the crowded cobbled streets and across the sprawling castle grounds toward the atrium. Just as Thomas was about to reach out to turn the iron ring and push the door open, a dark-haired girl in her late twenties with big brown doe eyes rounded the corner and planted both hands on her hips in an imposing stance. She was wearing a simple suit of armor with a rusty chestplate and hole-filled chainmail. She reminded Aeryn of herself at that age—full of spunk and life, fearless, wanting to take on the world.

Or at least all of Ferelden.

"Tom! Will! Where in the Maker's name have you been hiding my mother?"

"Carys!" Aeryn opened her arms to the young woman, who was quick to rush into her embrace. "My darling, you didn't tell me you were planning on surprising me with a visit."

"When I heard you were coming, I convinced them to let me leave for a little while," she said. "Being a Grey Warden is not at all exciting like I thought it would be. And to think, Mum, that you've been doing this for thirty years!"

"Aye, my sweet," she answered her with a pat to the cheek. "Your grandmother and grandfather had their reservations about my conscription, but—looking back—I wouldn't have changed a thing. That doesn't mean I'm not glad it's at an end, though."

"Then it's true," Carys replied breathlessly, her eyes misting. "You have felt the calling?"

"We both have. That is why we've made this final visit."

For the first moment since arriving, she took notice of her father's presence beside her as he stared down fondly upon his daughter, his flesh and blood little "miracle" that they had conceived in their first year of marriage. The Maker's blessing had been upon them that year; after Carys, no children followed. And though they, doubtless, would have loved to add to their brood of Howes, they delighted in the gift that was given, realizing how fortunate they were to have even one daughter.

"Father," she said, winding her arms around Nathaniel's neck as he patted her back gently.

"I knew," he said with conviction. "I knew you would come."

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it for the world," Carys said, pulling away as she smiled up at him. "I had to pull a few strings, but I made it, and that's all that matters."

"Indeed it is, my love," Aeryn replied. "Indeed it is."

"Come on—Uncle Fergus and Aunt Delilah have been awaiting you for what seems like forever!"

The sound of their footsteps striking the cobbles echoed through the cavernous throne room as they entered. A single scarlet carpet flowed from the entrance to the hearth, where Fergus was standing with a single cup of wine. Delilah stood beside him attired in a simple gown of ivory silk, her mop of dark hair styled in the manner of her mother as she had appeared in her family portrait. A simple circlet inlaid with pearls and precious gemstones was her only adornment.

At their entrance, Delilah made a point of rushing forward to kiss Aeryn on the cheeks and throw her arms around her warmly. The other woman looked as though she had not aged a day—perhaps a combination of good genes and a rather dormant lifestyle.

"Aeryn! It has been too long."

"Tell me about it! You look well."

"I could say the same for you. I've never seen you look this happy and healthy in years."

"I have much to be happy about, dear sister," she said, squeezing her hands fondly as she cast a glance in her husband's direction. He had thrown an arm around Thomas' shoulder and was talking to him in hushed tones.

"Carys only just arrived this morning; I was so glad she was able to make it to see you. The Grey Wardens have certainly kept her busy, haven't they?"

"Too busy. Thank you for inviting her."

"Anything for my dearest sister."

Again their hands tightened with affection.

"Stay awhile?" she asked pleadingly.

"I wish we could, but… unfortunately we're planning on leaving straightaway."

"Well, you shall, until such time, avail yourselves of our hospitality. I wouldn't dream of sending you away to wherever it is on an empty stomach…"

"Well, that is the reason for this visit. You need to be informed of what is going to happen."

"You look so serious when you say that."

"You'll probably need to be sitting down for this… But give me a moment with my brother."

"Of course."

She turned and went to Fergus, folding him into a warm and scented embrace. He released a very happy sigh, pulling away to hold her at arm's length and look her over.

"Little sister, it is good to see you again."

"Your young boys have become strapping men."

"They have, haven't they? I am proud of them both."

Although Thomas was not his own flesh and blood, he treated him no differently than he had William, welcoming the boy into his life with open arms and a big heart. Aeryn had never thought him capable of such love for another man's son, but he had surprised even her.

"Now then, there is the matter of what we've come to talk about."

Nathaniel drew nearer her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Thomas, William, and Carys all planted themselves before the fire, jostling each other with a bit of friendly pushing and shoving in order to get the best spot. Thomas at one point had Carys in a headlock, and her arms flailed as she screamed that the Maker's wrath would rain down upon him should he not desist. Eventually the three of them were brought to obedience by the somber look in Aeryn's eyes. Even Delilah and Thomas, having taken notice of the import of the moment, seated themselves by the fire.

"Nathaniel and I have both felt the calling upon our lives," Aeryn said. "Nate… why don't you tell them?"

He crossed both arms behind his back and stepped closer to their audience.

"What do you mean, _the calling_?" Thomas echoed. "Is that some sort of special Grey Warden thing?"

"Shh, you ninny," Carys silenced him in annoyance. "You _know_ what it is."

"Indeed it is, Thomas. When a Grey Warden comes to the end of their life, they start to lose the battle against the corruption as the taint spreads inside of them. When that happens, they must answer the calling."

"But what is a _calling_?" William echoed.

"A ritual as old as time itself. The Grey Warden—or Grey Wardens, as the case may be—journey to the Deep Roads, where they will enter the warrens alone for one last time, to kill as many creatures as they can before dying honorably in battle."

"How do you know you're being called?" Thomas interrupted.

"You can just feel it in your blood," Aeryn answered. "Each day, a little part of your soul whiles away… and then one day you just wake up and know it's time."

Carys folded her hands in her lap respectfully, as though she were grappling with thoughts of her own calling, of the fate that awaited her at the end of the long journey she had just embarked on.

"No offense, Mum, but you do not look to form for such a task."

"But, my love, we do not intend on returning. There is little need to train for this moment. All of our years have been leading to this."

"So you came to tell us you're leaving—just like that?" William whined.

"We don't intend on staying very long. At the very least, we will be leaving tomorrow. We've a long journey to the Deep Roads," she said, hushing him in a softer voice than she ever normally used. William was such a sensitive sort that she worried this news would greatly upset him.

"It doesn't seem fair!"

"That's enough, pup," Fergus shot at him. "Fair or not, that's the way it must be. There is no changing the Maker's will. Better you learn that now than later." He looked at Aeryn with eyes that were slightly red-rimmed and puffy. Was he holding back tears? "Do you know what awaits you in the Deep Roads?"

"It is difficult to say," Nathaniel answered for his wife, holding her gently when he noticed how she was reacting to Fergus' mistiness. "In the days before the Blight, there were Darkspawn, but I haven't even seen any in the last decade… though that's not to say they aren't still at large. The Deep Roads call to us in our blood; surely there must be something stirring from deep within, something we can hopefully put out before our time here is done."

They held hands.

"Which brings us to the matter of our land holdings that you were so kind to give us, Brother," Aeryn said to Fergus. "The estate belongs now to Thomas. Understand, Will, that when you were gifted Castle Highever as a child, we had this in mind for Thomas. And you, Carys, your place was with the Wardens—not at home."

"I never much liked the place anyway," she joked. "Thomas deserves it."

"I am humbled," Thomas said. "Thank you… it is extraordinarily generous of you."

"Just promise you'll take good care of it, clean off the portraits every once in a while," Nathaniel said to him. "There's a great deal of history there. As a Howe, it is your duty to safeguard the family possessions. I went through a great deal of trouble trying to steal them away from your aunt once…"

They exchanged a knowing look.

After a few more glasses of wine and some companionable conversation, Aeryn arose and cast a glance at the others.

"The hour is late," Aeryn announced while stifling a yawn. "We should go to bed."

"Must you?" Thomas complained aloud. "The evening's only just beginning."

"If it's really to be your last night with us…" William pressed.

"Then surely you can stay awake just a little longer," Carys interrupted. "Mum, please."

Nathaniel smiled down at her, the silently pleading look in his eyes begging her to sit and enjoy the fire just a moment longer. For the first time in many years, she felt joy beyond compare. Just knowing she was surrounded by those who loved her was comforting, enough to wash away the fear that had gripped hold of her at the thought of entering the Deep Roads, the place where they would die.

With a smile, she sat down to indulge them in another story before the morning came, squeezing Nathaniel's hand with possessive tenderness.

It had been a good life, and now it was at last to be over.

She welcomed the restful darkness with open arms.


End file.
